TheBladeItself
TheFirstLaw:Book1
JoeAbercrombie
FortheFourReaders
Youknowwhoyouare
TheEnd
Logen plunged through the trees, bare feet slipping and sliding on the wet
earth,theslush,thewetpineneedles,breathraspinginhischest,bloodthumping
inhishead.Hestumbledandsprawledontohisside,nearlycuthischestopen
withhisownaxe,laytherepanting,peeringthroughtheshadowyforest.
TheDogmanhadbeenwithhimuntilamomentbefore,hewassure,butthere
wasn’tanysignofhimnow.Asfortheothers,therewasnotelling.Someleader,
gettingsplitupfromhisboyslikethat.Heshould’vebeentryingtogetback,but
theShankawereallaround.Hecouldfeelthemmovingbetweenthetrees,his
nose was full of the smell of them. Sounded as if there was some shouting
somewhereonhisleft,fightingmaybe.Logencreptslowlytohisfeet,tryingto
stayquiet.Atwigsnappedandhewhippedround.
Therewasaspearcomingathim.Acruel-lookingspear,comingathimfast
withaShankaontheotherendofit.
“Shit,”saidLogen.Hethrewhimselftooneside,slippedandfellonhisface,
rolledawaythrashingthroughthebrush,expectingthespearthroughhisbackat
anymoment.Hescrambledup,breathinghard.Hesawthebrightpointpokingat
himagain,dodgedoutoftheway,slitheredbehindabigtreetrunk.Hepeered
outandtheFlatheadhissedandstabbedathim.Heshowedhimselfontheother
side,justforamoment,thenduckedaway,jumpedroundthetreeandswungthe
axedown,roaringloudashecould.Therewasacrackasthebladeburieditself
deepintheShanka’sskull.Luckythat,butthenLogenreckonedhewasduea
littleluck.
TheFlatheadstoodthere,blinkingathim.Thenitstartedtoswayfromsideto
side,blood dribblingdownits face.Thenit droppedlikea stone, draggingthe
axefromLogen’sfingers,thrashingaroundontheground,athisfeet.Hetriedto
grabholdofhisaxe-handlebuttheShankastillsomehowhadagriponitsspear
andthepointwasflailingaroundintheair.
“Gah!”squawkedLogenasthespearcutanickinhisarm.Hefeltashadow
fallacrosshisface.AnotherFlathead.Adamnbigone.Alreadyintheair,arms
outstretched. No time to get the axe. No time to get out of the way. Logen’s
mouthopened,buttherewasnotimetosayanything.Whatdoyousayatatime
likethat?
Theycrashedtothewetgroundtogether,rolledtogetherthroughthedirtand
thethornsandthebrokenbranches,tearingandpunchingandgrowlingateach
other.AtreeroothitLogeninthehead,hard,andmadehisearsring.Hehada
knife somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. They rolled on, and on,
downhill,theworldflippingandflippingaround,Logentryingtoshakethefuzz
out of his head and throttle the big Flathead at the same time. There was no
stopping.
It had seemed a clever notion to pitch camp near the gorge. No chance of
anyonesneakingupbehind.Now,asLogenslidovertheedgeofthecliffonhis
belly,theidealostmuchofitsappeal.Hishandsscrabbledatthewetearth.Only
dirtandbrownpineneedles.Hisfingersclutched,clutchedatnothing.Hewas
beginningtofall.Heletgoalittlewhimper.
Hishandsclosedaroundsomething.Atreeroot,stickingoutfromtheearthat
theveryedgeofthegorge.Heswunginspace,gasping,buthisgripwasfirm.
“Hah!”heshouted.“Hah!”Hewasstillalive.Itwouldtakemorethanafew
FlatheadstoputanendtoLogenNinefingers.Hestartedtopullhimselfuponto
thebankbutcouldn’tmanageit.Therewassomegreatweightaroundhislegs.
Hepeereddown.
Thegorgewasdeep.Verydeepwithsheer,rockysides.Hereandthereatree
clung to a crack, growing out into the empty air and spreading its leaves into
space. The river hissed away far below, fast and angry, foaming white water
fringedbyjaggedblackstone.Thatwasallbad,forsure,but therealproblem
wasclosertohand.ThebigShankawasstillwithhim,swinginggentlybackand
forthwithitsdirtyhandsclampedtightaroundhisleftankle.
“Shit,”mutteredLogen.Itwasquiteascrapehewasin.He’dbeeninsome
bad ones alright, and lived to sing the songs, but it was hard to see how this
couldgetmuchworse.Thatgothimthinkingabouthislife.Itseemedabitter,
pointless sort of a life now. No one was any better off because of it. Full of
violenceandpain,withnotmuchbutdisappointmentandhardshipinbetween.
Hishandswerestartingtotirenow,hisforearmswereburning.ThebigFlathead
didn’t look like it was going to fall off any time soon. In fact, it had dragged
itselfuphislegaway.Itpaused,glaringupathim.
IfLogenhadbeentheoneclingingtotheShanka’sfoot,hewouldmostlikely
havethought,“MylifedependsonthislegI’mhangingfrom—bestnottakeany
chances.”Amanwouldrathersavehimselfthankillhisenemy.Troublewasthat
the Shanka didn’t think that way, and Logen knew it. So it wasn’t much of a
surprisewhenitopeneditsbigmouthandsankitsteethintohiscalf.
“Aaaargh!”Logengrunted,andsquealedandkickedoutashardashecould
withhis bareheel,kicked abloodygash intheShanka’shead, butit wouldn’t
stopbiting,andtheharderhekicked,themorehishandsslippedonthegreasy
rootabove.Therewasn’tmuchrootlefttoholdonto,now,andwhattherewas
looked like snapping off any moment. He tried to think past the pain in his
hands,thepaininhisarms,theFlathead’steethinhisleg.Hewasgoingtofall.
Theonlychoicewasbetweenfallingonrocksorfallingonwater,andthatwasa
choicethatmoreorlessmadeitself.
Onceyou’vegotatasktodo,it’sbettertodoitthantolivewiththefearofit.
That’swhatLogen’sfatherwouldhavesaid.Soheplantedhisfreefootfirmly
on the rock face, took one last deep breath, and flung himself out into empty
spacewithallthestrengthhehadleft.Hefeltthebitingteethletgoofhim,then
thegraspinghands,andforamomenthewasfree.
Thenhe began tofall. Fast.Thesides of thegorgeflashed past—greyrock,
greenmoss,patchesofwhitesnow,alltumblingaroundhim.
Logen turned over slowly in the air, limbs flailing pointlessly, too scared to
scream.Therushingwindwhippedathiseyes,tuggedathisclothes,pluckedthe
breathoutofhismouth.HesawthebigShankahittherockfacebesidehim.He
sawitbreakandbounceandflopoff,deadforsure.Thatwasapleasingsight,
butLogen’ssatisfactionwasshort-lived.
The water came up to meet him. It hit him in the side like a charging bull,
punchedtheairoutofhislungs,knockedthesenseoutofhishead,suckedhim
inanddownintothecolddarkness…
PARTI
“Thebladeitselfincitestodeedsofviolence.”
Homer
TheSurvivors
Thelappingofwaterinhisears.Thatwasthefirstthing.Thelappingofwater,
therustlingoftrees,theoddclickandtwitterofabird.
Logenopenedhiseyesacrack.Light,blurrybrightthroughleaves.Thiswas
death? Then why did it hurt so much? His whole left side was throbbing. He
tried to take a proper breath, choked, coughed up water, spat out mud. He
groaned,floppedoverontohishandsandknees,draggedhimselfupoutofthe
river,gaspingthroughclenchedteeth,rolledontohisbackinthemossandslime
androttensticksatthewater’sedge.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the grey sky beyond the black
branches,breathwheezinginhisrawthroat.
“Iamstillalive,”hecroakedtohimself.Stillalive,inspiteofthebestefforts
ofnature,Shanka,menandbeasts.Soakingwetandflatonhisback,hestarted
tochuckle.Reedy,gurglinglaughter.SayonethingforLogenNinefingers,say
he’sasurvivor.
Acoldwindblewacrosstherottingriverbank,andLogen’slaughterslowly
died.Alivehemightbe,butstayingalive,thatwasanotherquestion.Hesatup,
wincingatthepain.Hetotteredtohisfeet,leaningagainstthenearesttreetrunk.
Hescrapedthedirtoutofhisnose,hiseyes,hisears.Hepulleduphiswetshirt
totakealookatthedamage.
Hissidewascoveredinbruisesfromthefall.Blueandpurplestainsalluphis
ribs. Tender to the touch, and no mistake, but it didn’t feel like anything was
broken. His leg was a mess. Torn and bloody from the Shanka’s teeth. It hurt
bad, but his foot still moved well enough, and that was the main thing. He’d
needhisfoot,ifhewasgoingtogetoutofthis.
Hestillhadhisknifeinthesheathathisbelt,andhewasmightilygladtosee
it.YoucouldneverhavetoomanyknivesinLogen’sexperience,andthiswasa
goodone,buttheoutlookwasstillbleak.Hewasonhisown,inwoodscrawling
withFlatheads.Hehadnoideawherehewas,buthecouldfollowtheriver.The
rivers all flowed north, from the mountains to the cold sea. Follow the river
southwards, against the current. Follow the river and climb up, into the High
PlaceswheretheShankacouldn’tfindhim.Thatwashisonlychance.
Itwouldbecoldupthere,thistimeofyear.Deadlycold.Helookeddownat
his bare feet. It was just his luck that the Shanka had come while he had his
bootsoff,trimminghisblisters.Nocoateither—he’dbeensittingnearthefire.
Likethis,hewouldn’tlastadayinthemountains.Hishandsandfeetwouldturn
blackinthenight,andhe’ddiebitbybitbeforeheevenreachedthepasses.Ifhe
didn’tstarvefirst.
“Shit,” he muttered. He had to go back to the camp. He had to hope the
Flatheadshadmovedon,hopethey’dleftsomethingbehind.Somethinghecould
usetosurvive.Thatwasanawfullotofhoping,buthehadnochoice.Henever
hadanychoices.
IthadstartedtorainbythetimeLogen found the place. Spitting drops that
plasteredhishairtohisskull,kepthisclotheswetthrough.Hepressedhimself
againstamossytrunkandpeeredouttowardsthecamp,heartpounding,fingers
ofhisrighthandcurledpainfultightaroundtheslipperygripofhisknife.
Hesaw theblackened circlewhere thefire hadbeen, half-burnedsticks and
ashtrampledroundit.HesawthebiglogThreetreesandDowhadbeensitting
onwhentheFlatheadscame.Hesawoddbitsoftornandbrokengearscattered
acrosstheclearing.HecountedthreedeadShankacrumpledontheground,one
withanarrowpokingoutofitschest.Threedeadones,butnosignofanyalive.
That was lucky. Just lucky enough to survive, as always. Still, they might be
backatanymoment.Hehadtobequick.
Logenscuttledoutfromthetrees,castingaboutontheground.Hisbootswere
stilltherewherehe’dleftthem.Hesnatchedthemupanddraggedthemontohis
freezing feet, hopping around, almost slipping in his haste. His coat was there
too,wedgedunder thelog,batteredandscarredfromtenyearsof weatherand
war,tornandstitchedbacktogether,missinghalfasleeve.Hispackwaslying
shapeless in the brush nearby, its contents strewn out down the slope. He
crouched,breathless,throwingitallbackinside.Alengthofrope,hisoldclay
pipe, some strips of dried meat, needle and twine, a dented flask with some
liquorstillsloshinginside.Allgood.Alluseful.
There was a tattered blanket snagged on a branch, wet and half caked in
grime. Logen pulled it up, and grinned. His old, battered cook pot was
underneath.Lyingonitsside,kickedoffthefireinthefightmaybe.Hegrabbed
holdofitwithbothhands.Itfeltsafe,familiar,dentedandblackenedfromyears
ofharduse.He’dhadthatpotalongtime.Ithadfollowedhimallthroughthe
wars,acrosstheNorthandbackagain.Theyhadallcookedinittogether,outon
thetrail,alleatenoutofit.Forley,Grim,theDogman,allofthem.
Logen looked over the campsite again. Three dead Shanka, but none of his
people.Maybetheywerestilloutthere.Maybeifhetookarisk,triedtolook—
“No.”Hesaiditquietly,underhisbreath.Heknewbetterthanthat.Therehad
beenalotofFlatheads.Anawfullot.Hehadnoideahowlonghe’dlainonthe
river bank. Even if a couple of the boys had got away, the Shanka would be
huntingthem,huntingthemdownintheforests.Theywerenothingbutcorpses
now,for sure,scattered acrossthe highvalleys. AllLogen coulddo wasmake
forthemountains, and trytosave his own sorrylife.Youhavetobe realistic.
Havetobe,howevermuchithurts.
“It’sjustyouandmenow,”saidLogenashestuffedthepotintohispackand
threw it over his shoulder. He started to limp off, as fast as he could. Uphill,
towardstheriver,towardsthemountains.
Justthetwoofthem.Himandthepot.
Theyweretheonlysurvivors.
Questions
WhydoIdothis?InquisitorGloktaaskedhimselfforthethousandthtimeas
helimpeddownthecorridor.Thewallswererenderedandwhitewashed,though
none too recently. There was a seedy feel to the place and a smell of damp.
Therewerenowindows,asthe hallwaywas deepbeneath theground, andthe
lanternscastslowflowingshadowsintoeverycorner.
Whywouldanyonewanttodothis?Glokta’swalkingmadeasteadyrhythm
onthegrimytilesofthefloor.Firsttheconfidentclickofhisrightheel,thenthe
tapofhiscane,thentheendlessslidingofhisleftfoot,withthefamiliarstabbing
painsintheankle,knee,arseandback.Click,tap,pain.Thatwastherhythmof
hiswalking.
Thedirtymonotonyofthecorridorwasbrokenfromtimetotimebyaheavy
door,boundandstudded with pitted iron. On oneoccasion,Gloktathought he
heardamuffledcryofpainfrombehindone.Iwonderwhatpoorfoolisbeing
questionedinthere?Whatcrimetheyareguilty,orinnocentof?Whatsecretsare
being picked at, what lies cut through, what treasons laid bare? He didn’t
wonderlongthough.Hewasinterruptedbythesteps.
IfGloktahadbeengiventheopportunitytotortureanyoneman,anyoneat
all,hewouldsurelyhavechosentheinventorofsteps.Whenhewasyoungand
widely admired, before his misfortunes, he had never really noticed them. He
had sprung down them two at a time and gone blithely on his way. No more.
They’re everywhere. You really can’t change floors without them. And down is
worsethanup,that’sthethingpeopleneverrealise.Goingup,youusuallydon’t
fallthatfar.
Heknewthisflightwell.Sixteensteps,cutfromsmoothstone,alittleworn
toward the centre, slightly damp, like everything down here. There was no
banister,nothingtoclingto.Sixteen enemies. Achallenge indeed. It had taken
Gloktaalongtimetodeveloptheleastpainfulmethodofdescendingstairs.He
wentsidewayslikeacrab.Canefirst,thenleftfoot,thenright,withmorethan
theusualagonyashisleftlegtookhisweight,joinedbyapersistentstabbingin
theneck.WhyshouldithurtinmyneckwhenIgodownstairs?Doesmyneck
takemyweight?Doesit?Yetthepaincouldnotbedenied.
Glokta paused four steps from the bottom. He had nearly beaten them. His
handwastremblingonthehandleofhiscane, hisleftlegachinglikefury. He
tongued his gums where his front teeth used to be, took a deep breath and
steppedforward.Hisanklegavewaywithahorrifyingwrenchandheplunged
into space, twisting, lurching, his mind a cauldron of horror and despair. He
stumbledontothenextsteplikeadrunkard,fingernailsscratchingatthesmooth
wall,givingasquealofterror.Youstupid,stupidbastard!Hiscaneclatteredto
thefloor, hisclumsyfeet wrestledwith thestonesand hefoundhimself atthe
bottom,bysomemiraclestillstanding.
And here it is. That horrible, beautiful, stretched out moment between
stubbing your toe and feeling the hurt. How long do I have before the pain
comes?Howbadwillitbewhenitdoes?Gasping,slack-jawedatthefootofthe
steps,Gloktafeltatinglingofanticipation.Hereitcomes…
Theagonywasunspeakable,asearingspasmuphisleftsidefromfoottojaw.
Hesqueezedhiswateringeyestightshut,clampedhisrighthandoverhismouth
sohardthattheknucklesclicked.Hisremainingteethgratedagainsteachother
as he locked his jaws together, but a high-pitched, jagged moan still whistled
from him. Am I screaming or laughing? How do I tell the difference? He
breathedinheavinggasps,throughhisnose,snotbubblingoutontohishand,his
twistedbodyshakingwiththeeffortofstayingupright.
Thespasmpassed.Gloktamovedhislimbscautiously,onebyone,testingthe
damage. His leg was on fire, his foot numb, his neck clicked with every
movement, sending vicious little stings down his spine. Pretty good,
considering.Hebentdownwithaneffortandsnatcheduphiscanebetweentwo
fingers,drewhimselfuponcemore,wipedthesnotandtearsonthebackofhis
hand.Trulyathrill.DidIenjoyit?Formostpeoplestairsareamundaneaffair.
For me, an adventure! He limped off down the corridor, giggling quietly to
himself.Hewasstillsmilingeversofaintlywhenhereachedhisowndoorand
shuffledinside.
Agrubbywhiteboxwithtwodoorsfacingeachother.Theceilingwastoolow
forcomfort,theroomtoobrightlylitbyblazinglamps.Dampwascreepingout
of one corner and the plaster had erupted with flaking blisters, speckled with
blackmould.Someonehadtriedtoscrubalongbloodstainfromonewall,but
hadn’ttriednearlyhardenough.
Practical Frost was standing on the other side of the room, big arms folded
acrosshisbigchest.HenoddedtoGlokta,withalltheemotionofastone,and
Gloktanoddedback.Betweenthemstoodascarred,stainedwoodentable,bolted
tothefloorandflankedbytwochairs.Anakedfatmansatinoneofthem,hands
tiedtightlybehindhimandwithabrowncanvasbagoverhishead.Hisquick,
muffled breathing was the only sound. It was cold down here, but he was
sweating.Aswellheshouldbe.
Glokta limped over to the other chair, leaned his cane carefully against the
edgeofthetabletopandslowly,cautiously,painfullysatdown.Hestretchedhis
neck to the left and right, then allowed his body to slump into a position
approachingcomfort.IfGloktahadbeengiventheopportunitytoshakethehand
of any one man, any one at all, he would surely have chosen the inventor of
chairs.Hehasmademylifealmostbearable.
Froststeppedsilentlyoutofthecornerandtookholdoftheloosetopofthe
bagbetweenmeaty,palefingerandheavy,whitethumb.Gloktanoddedandthe
Practicalrippeditoff,leavingSalemRewsblinkingintheharshlight.
A mean, piggy, ugly little face. You mean, ugly pig, Rews. You disgusting
swine.You’rereadytoconfessrightnow,I’llbet,readytotalkandtalkwithout
interruption, until we’re all sick of it. There was a big dark bruise across his
cheek and another on his jaw above his double chin. As his watering eyes
adjustedtothebrightnessherecognisedGloktasittingoppositehim,andhisface
suddenlyfilledwithhope.Asadly,sadlymisplacedhope.
“Glokta, you have to help me!” he squealed, leaning forward as far as his
bonds would allow, words bubbling out in a desperate, mumbling mess. “I’m
falsely accused, you know it, I’m innocent! You’ve come to help me, yes?
You’re my friend! You have influence here. We’re friends, friends! You could
saysomethingforme!I’maninnocentman,falselyaccused!I’m—”
Glokta held up his hand for silence. He stared at Rews’ familiar face for a
moment, as though he had never laid eyes on him before. Then he turned to
Frost.“AmIsupposedtoknowthisman?”
The albino said nothing. The bottom part of his face was hidden by his
Practical’smask,andthetophalfgavenothingaway.Hestaredunblinkingatthe
prisonerinthechair,pinkeyesasdeadasacorpse.Hehadn’tblinkedoncesince
Gloktacameintotheroom.Howcanhedothat?
“It’s me, Rews!” hissed the fat man, the pitch of his voice rising steadily
towardspanic.“SalemRews,youknowme,Glokta!Iwaswithyouinthewar,
before…youknow…we’refriends!We—”
Gloktahelduphishandagainandsatback,tappingoneofhisfewremaining
teethwithafingernailasthoughdeepinthought.“Rews.Thenameisfamiliar.A
merchant, a member of the Guild of Mercers. A rich man by all accounts. I
remembernow…”Gloktaleanedforward,pausingforeffect.“Hewasatraitor!
He was taken by the Inquisition, his property confiscated. You see, he had
conspired to avoid the King’s taxes.” Rews’ mouth was hanging open. “The
King’staxes!”screamedGlokta,smashinghishanddownonthetable.Thefat
manstared,wideeyed,andlickedatatooth.Upperrightside,secondfromthe
back.
“Butwhereareourmanners?”askedGloktaofnooneinparticular.“Wemay
ormaynothaveknowneachotheronce,butIdon’tthinkyouandmyassistant
havebeenproperlyintroduced.PracticalFrost,sayhellotothisfatman.”
Itwasanopen-handedblow,butpowerfulenoughtoknockRewscleanoutof
hisseat.The chair rattledbutwasotherwise unaffected.How is that done? To
knockhimtothegroundbutleavethechairstanding?Rewssprawledgurgling
acrossthefloor,faceflattenedonthetiles.
“He reminds me of a beached whale,” said Glokta absently. The albino
grabbedRewsunderthearmandhauledhimup,flunghimbackintothechair.
Bloodseepedfromacutonhischeek,buthispiggyeyeswerehardnow.Blows
makemostmensoftenup,butsomemenharden.Ineverwouldhavetakenthis
oneforatoughman,butlifeisfullofsurprises.
Rewsspatbloodontothetabletop.“You’vegonetoofarhere,Glokta,ohyes!
The Mercers are an honourable guild; we have influence! They won’t put up
withthis!I’maknownman!EvennowmywifewillbepetitioningtheKingto
hearmycase!”
“Ah,yourwife.”Gloktasmiledsadly.“Yourwifeisaverybeautifulwoman.
Beautiful,andyoung.Ifear,perhaps,alittletooyoungforyou.Ifearshetook
theopportunitytoberidofyou.Ifearshecameforwardwithyourbooks.All
thebooks.”Rews’facepaled.
“Welookedatthosebooks,”Gloktaindicatedanimaginarypileofpaperson
hisleft,“welookedatthebooksinthetreasury,”indicatinganotheronhisright.
“Imagineoursurprisewhenwecouldnotmakethenumbersaddup.Andthen
there were the night-time visits by your employees to warehouses in the old
quarter, the small unregistered boats, the payments to officials, the forged
documentation. Must I go on?” asked Glokta, shaking his head in profound
disapproval.Thefatmanswallowedandlickedhislips.
Pen and ink were placed before the prisoner, and the paper of confession,
filledoutindetailinFrost’sbeautiful,carefulscript,awaitingonlythesignature.
I’llgethimrighthereandnow.
“Confess, Rews,” Glokta whispered softly, “and put a painless end to this
regrettablebusiness.Confessandnameyouraccomplices.Wealreadyknowwho
theyare.Itwillbeeasieronallofus.Idon’twanttohurtyou,believeme,itwill
givemenopleasure.”Nothingwill.“Confess.Confess,andyouwillbespared.
Exile in Angland is not so bad as they would have you believe. There is still
pleasuretobehadfromlifethere,andthesatisfactionofadayofhonestwork,in
theserviceofyourKing.Confess!”Rewsstaredatthefloor,lickingathistooth.
Gloktasatbackandsighed.
“Ornot,”hesaid,“andIcancomebackwithmyinstruments.”Frostmoved
forward, his massive shadow falling across the fat man’s face. “Body found
floating by the docks,” Glokta breathed, “bloated by seawater and horribly
mutilated…far…farbeyondrecognition.”He’sreadytotalk.He’sfatandripe
andreadytoburst.“Weretheinjuriesinflictedbeforeorafterdeath?”heasked
the ceiling breezily. “Was the mysterious deceased a man or a woman even?”
Gloktashrugged.“Whocansay?”
Therewasasharpknockatthedoor.Rews’facejerkedup,filledwithhope
again.Notnow,damn it!Frostwent to thedoor,opened it acrack.Something
wassaid.Thedoorshut,FrostleaneddowntowhisperinGlokta’sear.
“IthTheverar,”camethehalf-tonguedmumble,bywhichGloktaunderstood
thatSeverardwasatthedoor.
Already?Gloktasmiledandnodded,asifitwasgoodnews.Rews’facefella
little.Howcouldamanwhosebusinesshasbeenconcealmentfinditimpossible
tohidehisemotionsinthisroom?ButGloktaknewhow.It’shardtostaycalm
whenyou’reterrified,helpless,alone,atthemercyofmenwithnomercyatall.
Who could know that better than me? He sighed, and using his most world-
wearytoneofvoiceasked,“Doyouwishtoconfess?”
“No!”Thedefiancehadreturnedtotheprisoner’spiggyeyesnow.Hestared
back, silent and watchful, and sucked. Surprising. Very surprising. But then
we’rejustgettingstarted.
“Isthattoothbotheringyou,Rews?”TherewasnothingGloktadidn’tknow
aboutteeth.Hisownmouthhadbeenworkedonbytheverybest.Or thevery
worst,dependingonhowyoulookatit.“ItseemsthatImustleaveyounow,but
while I’m away, I’ll be thinking about that tooth. I’ll be considering very
carefully what to do with it.” He took hold of his cane. “I want you to think
about me, thinking about your tooth. And I also want you to think, very
carefully,aboutsigningyourconfession.”
Gloktagotawkwardlytohisfeet,shakingouthisachingleg.“Ithinkyoumay
respondwelltoastraightforwardbeatinghowever,soI’mgoingtoleaveyouin
thecompanyofPracticalFrostforhalfanhour.”Rews’mouthbecameasilent
circleofsurprise.Thealbinopickedupthechair,fatmanandall,andturnedit
slowlyaround.“He’sabsolutelythebestthereisatthiskindofthing.”Frosttook
outapairofbatteredleatherglovesandbegantopullthemcarefullyontohisbig
whitehands,onefingeratatime.“Youalwaysdidliketohavetheverybestof
everything,eh,Rews?”Gloktamadeforthedoor.
“Wait!Glokta!”wailedRewsoverhisshoulder.“WaitI—”
Practical Frost clamped a gloved hand over the fat man’s mouth and held a
fingertohismask.“Thhhhhhh,”hesaid.Thedoorclickedshut.
Severardwasleaningagainstthewallinthecorridor,onefootproppedonthe
plaster behind him, whistling tunelessly beneath his mask and running a hand
throughhislong,lankyhair.AsGloktacamethroughthedoorhestraightenedup
and gave a little bow, and it was plain by his eyes that he was smiling. He’s
alwayssmiling.
“Superior Kalyne wants to see you,” he said in his broad, common accent,
“andI’moftheopinionthatIneversawhimangrier.”
“Severard,youpoorthing,youmustbeterrified.Doyouhavethebox?”
“Ido.”
“AndyoutooksomethingoutforFrost?”
“Idid.”
“Andsomethingforyourwifetoo,Ihope?”
“Ohyes,”saidSeverard,hiseyes smilingmorethanever,“Mywifewillbe
welltakencareof.IfIevergetone.”
“Good.IhastentoanswerthecalloftheSuperior.WhenIhavebeenwithhim
forfiveminutes,comeinwiththebox.”
“Justbargeintohisoffice?”
“BargeinandstabhiminthefaceforallIcare.”
“I’dconsiderthatdone,Inquisitor.”
Glokta nodded, turned away, then turned back. “Don’t really stab him, eh,
Severard?”
The Practical smiled with his eyes and sheathed his vicious-looking knife.
Gloktarolledhiseyesuptotheceiling,thenlimpedoff,hiscanetappingonthe
tiles,hislegthrobbing.Click,tap,pain.Thatwastherhythmofhiswalking.
The Superior’s office was a large and richly appointed room high up in the
HouseofQuestions,aroominwhicheverythingwastoobigandtoofancy.A
huge,intricatewindowdominatedonewood-panelledwall,offeringaviewover
thewell-tendedgardensinthecourtyardbelow.Anequallyhugeandornatedesk
stoodinthecentreofarichlycolouredcarpetfromsomewherewarmandexotic.
The head of a fierce animal from somewhere cold and exotic was mounted
aboveamagnificentstonefireplacewithatiny,meanfireclosetoburningout
inside.
SuperiorKalynehimself made his officelook small anddrab.A vast, florid
man in his late fifties, he had over-compensated for his thinning hair with
magnificent white side whiskers. He was considered a daunting presence even
withintheInquisition,butGloktawaspastscaring,andtheybothknewit.
Therewasabig,fancychairbehindthedesk,buttheSuperiorwaspacingup
anddownwhilehescreamed,hisarmswaving.Gloktawasseatedonsomething
which, while doubtless expensive, had clearly been designed to make its
occupant as uncomfortable as possible. It doesn’t bother me much, though.
UncomfortableisasgoodasIeverget.
He amused himself with the thought of Kalyne’s head mounted above the
fireplaceinsteadofthatfierceanimal’s,whilethe Superiorranted athim. He’s
everybitlikehisfireplace,thebigdolt.Looksimpressive,butthere’snotmuch
goingonunderneath.Iwonderhowhe’drespondtoaninterrogation?I’dstart
withthoseridiculoussidewhiskers. ButGlokta’s face was a maskofattention
andrespect.
“Wellyou’veoutdoneyourselfthistime,Glokta,youmadcripple!Whenthe
Mercersfindoutaboutthisthey’llhaveyouflayed!”
“I’ve tried flaying, it tickles.” Damn it, keep your mouth shut and smile.
Where’sthatwhistlingfoolSeverard?I’llhavehimflayedwhenIgetoutofhere.
“Ohyes,that’sgood,that’sverygood,Glokta,lookatmelaugh!Andevasion
of the King’s taxes?” The Superior glowered down, whiskers bristling. “The
King’s taxes?” he screamed, spraying Glokta with spit. “They’re all at it! The
Mercers,theSpicers,allofthem!Everydamnfoolwithaboat!”
“Butthiswassoopen,Superior.Itwasaninsulttous.Ifeltwehadto—”
“You felt?” Kalyne was red-faced and vibrating with rage. “You were
explicitly told to keep away from the Mercers, away from the Spicers, away
fromallthebigguilds!”Hestrodeupanddownwithevergreaterspeed.You’ll
wearyourcarpetoutatthisrate.Thebigguildswillhavetobuyyouanewone.
“Youfelt,didyou?Wellhe’llhavetogoback!We’llhavetoreleasehimand
you’ll have to feel your way to a grovelling apology! It’s a damn disgrace!
You’vemademelookridiculous!Whereishenow?”
“IlefthiminthecompanyofPracticalFrost.”
“With that mumbling animal?” The Superior tore at his hair in desperation.
“Wellthat’sitthen,isn’tit?He’llbearuinnow!Wecan’tsendhimbackinthat
condition!You’refinishedhere,Glokta!Finished!I’mgoingstraighttotheArch
Lector!StraighttotheArchLector!”
ThehugedoorwaskickedopenandSeverardsaunteredincarryingawooden
box.Andnotamomenttoosoon.TheSuperiorstared,speechless,open-mouthed
withwrath,asSeverarddroppeditonthedeskwithathumpandajingle.
“Whatthehellisthemeaningof…”Severardpulledopenthelid,andKalyne
saw the money. All that lovely money. He stopped in mid-rant, mouth stuck
forming the next sound. He looked surprised, then he looked puzzled, then he
lookedcautious.Hepursedhislipsandslowlysatdown.
“Thank you, Practical Severard,” said Glokta. “You may go.” The Superior
wasstrokingthoughtfullyathissidewhiskersasSeverardstrolledout,hisface
returning gradually to its usual shade of pink. “Confiscated from Rews. The
propertyoftheCrownnow,ofcourse.IthoughtthatIshouldgiveittoyou,as
mydirectsuperior,sothatyoucouldpassitontotheTreasury.”Orbuyabigger
desk,youleech.
Glokta leaned forward, hands on his knees. “You could say, perhaps, that
Rews went too far, that questions had been asked, that an example had to be
made.Wecan’tbeseentodonothing,afterall.It’llmakethebigguildsnervous,
keeptheminline.”It’llmakethemnervousandyoucanscrewmoreoutofthem.
“OryoucouldalwaystellthemthatI’mamadcripple,andblamemeforit.”
TheSuperiorwasstartingtolikeitnow,Gloktacouldtell.Hewastryingnot
to show it, but his whiskers were quivering at the sight of all that money.
“Alright,Glokta.Alright.Verywell.”Hereachedoutandcarefullyshutthelid
ofthebox.“Butifyoueverthinkofdoingsomethinglikethisagain…talktome
first,wouldyou?Idon’tlikesurprises.”
Glokta struggled to his feet, limped towards the door. “Oh, and one more
thing!”Heturnedstifflyback.Kalynewasstaringathimseverelyfrombeneath
his big, fancy brows. “When I go to see the Mercers, I’ll need to take Rews’
confession.”
Glokta smiled broadly, showing the yawning gap in his front teeth. “That
shouldn’tbeaproblem,Superior.”
Kalynehadbeenright.TherewasnowaythatRewscouldhavegonebackin
this condition. His lips were split and bloody, his sides covered in darkening
bruises,hisheadlolledsideways,faceswollenalmostpastrecognition.Inshort,
helookslikeamanreadytoconfess.
“I don’t imagine you enjoyed the last half hour, Rews, I don’t imagine you
enjoyeditmuchatall.Perhapsitwastheworsthalfhourofyourlife,Ireally
couldn’tsay.I’mthinkingaboutwhatwehaveforyouhere,though,andthesad
fact is… that’s about as good as it gets. That’s the high life.” Glokta leaned
forward, his lace just inches from the bloody pulp of Rews’ nose. “Practical
Frost’s a little girl compared to me,” he whispered. “He’s a kitten. Once I get
startedwithyou,Rews,you’llbelookingbackonthiswithnostalgia.You’llbe
begging me to give you half an hour with the Practical. Do you understand?”
Rewswassilent,exceptfortheairwhistlingthroughhisbrokennose.
“Showhimtheinstruments,”whisperedGlokta.
Froststeppedforwardandopenedthepolishedcasewithatheatricalflourish.
Itwasamasterfulpieceofcraftsmanship.Asthelidwaspulledback,themany
traysinsideliftedandfannedout,displayingGlokta’stoolsinalltheirgruesome
glory.Therewereblades of every size and shape, needlescurvedandstraight,
bottles of oil and acid, nails and screws, clamps and pliers, saws, hammers,
chisels.Metal, wood andglassglittered inthebright lamplight,all polished to
mirror brightness and honed to a murderous sharpness. A big purple swelling
under Rews’ left eye had closed it completely, but the other darted over the
instruments:terrified,fascinated.Thefunctionsofsomewerehorriblyobvious,
thefunctionsofotherswerehorriblyobscure.Whichscarehimmore,Iwonder?
“We were talking about your tooth, I think,” murmured Glokta. Rews’ eye
flickeduptolookathim.“Orwouldyouliketoconfess?”Ihavehim,herehe
comes.Confess,confess,confess,confess…
Therewasasharpknockatthedoor.Damnitagain!Frostopeneditacrack
andtherewasabriefwhispering.Rewslickedathisbloatedlip.Thedoorshut,
thealbinoleanedtowhisperinGlokta’sear.
“Iththe Arth Ector.” Gloktafroze.The money was not enough. While I was
shufflingbackfromKalyne’soffice,theoldbastardwasreportingmetotheArch
Lector.AmIfinishedthen?Hefeltaguiltythrillatthethought.Well,I’llseeto
thisfatpigfirst.
“TellSeverardI’monmyway.”Gloktaturnedbacktotalktohisprisoner,but
Frostputabigwhitehandonhisshoulder.
“O.TheArthEctor,”Frostpointedtothedoor,“he’there.Ow.”
Here? Glokta could feel his eyelid twitching. Why? He pushed himself up
usingtheedgeofthetable.Willtheyfindmeinthecanaltomorrow?Deadand
bloated,far…farbeyondrecognition?Theonlyemotionthathefeltattheidea
wasaflutterofmildrelief.Nomorestairs.
The Arch Lector of His Majesty’s Inquisition was standing outside in the
corridor. The grimy walls looked almost brown behind him, so brilliantly
spotlesswerehislongwhitecoat,hiswhitegloves,hisshockofwhitehair.He
waspastsixty,butshowednoneoftheinfirmityofage.Everytall,clean-shaven,
fine-bonedinchofhimwasimmaculatelyturnedout.Helookslikeamanwho
hasneveronceinhislifebeensurprisedbyanything.
They had met once before, six years earlier when Glokta joined the
Inquisition,andhehardlyseemedtohavechanged.ArchLectorSult.Oneofthe
mostpowerful men inthe Union. One of the most powerful men in the world,
cometothat.Behindhim,almostlikeoutsizedshadows,loomedtwoenormous,
silent,black-maskedPracticals.
TheArchLectorgaveathinsmilewhenhesawGloktashuffleoutofhisdoor.
Itsaidalot,thatsmile.Mildscorn,mildpity,theveryslightesttouchofmenace.
Anything but amusement. “Inquisitor Glokta,” he said, holding out one white-
glovedhand,palmdown.Aringwithahugepurplestoneflashedonhisfinger.
“I serve and obey, your Eminence.” Glokta could not help grimacing as he
bent slowly forward to touch his lips to the ring. A difficult and painful
manoeuvre, it seemed to take forever. When he finally hoisted himself back
upright, Sult was gazing at him calmly with his cool blue eyes. A look that
impliedhealreadyunderstoodGloktacompletely,andwasunimpressed.
“Comewithme.”TheArchLectorturnedandsweptawaydownthecorridor.
Gloktalimpedalongafterhim,thesilentPracticalsmarchingclosebehind.Sult
movedwithaneffortless,languidconfidence,coattailsflappinggracefullyout
behindhim.Bastard. Soon they reached a door, much like his own. The Arch
Lectorunlockeditandwentinside,thePracticalstookuppositionseithersideof
thedoorway,armsfolded.Aprivateinterviewthen.OnewhichI,perhaps,will
neverleave.Gloktasteppedoverthethreshold.
Aboxofgrubbywhiteplastertoobrightlylitandwithaceilingtoolowfor
comfort.Ithadabigcrackinsteadofadamppatch,butwasotherwiseidentical
tohisownroom.Ithadthescarredtable,thecheapchairs,itevenhadapoorly
cleaned bloodstain. I wonder if they’re painted on, for the effect? One of the
Practicalssuddenlypulledthedoorshutwithaloudbang.Gloktawasintended
tojump,buthecouldn’tbebothered.
Arch Lector Sult lowered himself gracefully into one of the seats, drew a
heavy sheaf of yellowing papers across the table towards him. He waved his
hand at the other chair, the one that would be used by the prisoner. The
implicationswerenotlostonGlokta.
“Iprefertostand,yourEminence.”
Sult smiled at him. He had lovely, pointy teeth, all shiny white. “No, you
don’t.”
Hehasmethere.Gloktaloweredhimselfungracefullyintotheprisoner’schair
while the Arch Lector turned over the first page of his wedge of documents,
frownedandshookhisheadgentlyasthoughhorriblydisappointedbywhathe
saw.Thedetailsofmyillustriouscareer,perhaps?
“IhadavisitfromSuperiorKalynenotlongago.Hewasmostupset.”Sult’s
hardblueeyescameupfromhispapers.“Upsetwithyou,Glokta.Hewasquite
vocalonthesubject.Hetoldmethatyouareanuncontrollablemenace,thatyou
act without a thought for the consequences, that you are a mad cripple. He
demandedthatyouberemovedfromhisdepartment.”TheArchLectorsmiled,a
cold,nastysmile,thekindGloktausedonhisprisoners.Butwithmoreteeth.“I
thinkhehaditinmindthatyouberemoved…altogether.”Theystaredateach
otheracrossthetable.
IsthiswhereI beg for mercy? Is this where I crawlonthegroundandkiss
yourfeet?Well,Idon’tcareenoughtobegandI’mfartoostifftocrawl.Your
Practicals will have to kill me sitting down. Cut my throat. Bash my head in.
Whatever.Aslongastheygetonwithit.
ButSultwasinnorush.Thewhite-glovedhandsmovedneatly,precisely,the
pages hissed and crackled. “We have few men like you in the Inquisition,
Glokta. A nobleman, from an excellent family. A champion swordsman, a
dashingcavalryofficer.Amanoncegroomedfortheverytop.”Sultlookedhim
upanddownasthoughhecouldhardlybelieveit.
“Thatwasbeforethewar,ArchLector.”
“Obviously.Therewasmuchdismayatyourcapture,andlittlehopethatyou
would be returned alive. As the war dragged on and the months passed, hope
diminishedto nothing,butwhen the treatywassigned, youwereamong those
prisoners returned to the Union.” He peered at Glokta through narrowed eyes.
“Didyoutalk?”
Glokta couldn’t help himself, he spluttered with shrill laughter. It echoed
strangelyinthecoldroom.Notasoundyouoftenhearddownhere.“DidItalk?
I talked until my throat was raw. I told them everything I could think of. I
screamedevery secret I’d everheard.I babbled likeafool. When I ranoutof
things to tell them I made things up. I pissed myself and cried like a girl.
Everyonedoes.”
“Butnoteveryonesurvives.TwoyearsintheEmperor’sprisons.Nooneelse
lastedhalfthatlong.Thephysiciansweresureyouwouldneverleaveyourbed
again, but a year later you made your application to the Inquisition.” Weboth
knowit.Wewereboththere.Whatdoyouwantfromme,andwhynotgetonwith
it?Isupposesomemenjustlovethesoundoftheirownvoices.
“Iwastoldthatyouwerecrippled,thatyouwerebroken,thatyoucouldnever
be mended, that you could never be trusted. But I was inclined to give you a
chance. Some fool wins the Contest every year, and wars produce many
promising soldiers, but your achievement in surviving those two years was
unique. So you were sent to the North, and put in charge of one of our mines
there.WhatdidyoumakeofAngland?”
Afilthysinkofviolenceandcorruption.Aprisonwherewehavemadeslaves
oftheinnocentandguiltyalikeinthenameoffreedom.Astinkingholewherewe
sendthosewehateandthoseweareashamedoftodieofhunger,anddisease,
andhardlabour.“Itwascold,”saidGlokta.
“Andsowereyou.YoumadefewfriendsinAngland.Preciousfewamongthe
Inquisition,andnoneamongtheexiles.”Hepluckedatatteredletterfromamong
thepapersandcastacriticaleyeoverit.“SuperiorGoyletoldmethatyouwere
a cold fish, had no blood in you at all. He thought you’d never amount to
anything,thathecouldmakenouseofyou.”Goyle.Thatbastard.Thatbutcher.
I’dratherhavenobloodthannobrains.
“Butafterthreeyears,productionwasup.Itwasdoubledinfact.Soyouwere
brought back to Adua, to work under Superior Kalyne. I thought perhaps you
wouldlearndisciplinewithhim,butitseemsIwaswrong.Youinsistongoing
yourownway.”TheArchLectorfrownedupathim.“Tobefrank,Ithinkthat
Kalyneisafraidofyou.Ithinktheyallare.Theydon’tlikeyourarrogance,they
don’tlikeyourmethods,theydon’tlikeyour…specialinsightintoourwork.”
“Andwhatdoyouthink,ArchLector?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure I like your methods much either, and I doubt that
your arrogance is entirely deserved. But I like your results. I like your results
verymuch.”Heslappedthebundleofpapersclosedandrestedonehandontop
of it, leaning across the table towards Glokta. As I might lean towards my
prisonerswhenIaskthemtoconfess.“Ihaveataskforyou.Ataskthatshould
makebetteruseofyourtalentsthanchasingaroundafterpettysmugglers.Atask
thatmayallowyoutoredeemyourselfintheeyesoftheInquisition.”TheArch
Lectorpausedforalongmoment.“IwantyoutoarrestSeppdanTeufel.”
Gloktafrowned.Teufel?“TheMasteroftheMints,yourEminence?”
“Theverysame.”
TheMasteroftheRoyalMints.Animportantmanfromanimportantfamily.A
verybigfish,tobehookedinmylittletank.Afishwithpowerfulfriends.Itcould
bedangerous,arrestingamanlikethat.Itcouldbefatal.“MayIaskwhy?”
“Youmaynot.Letmeworryaboutthewhys.Youconcentrateonobtaininga
confession.”
“Aconfessiontowhat,ArchLector?”
“Why,tocorruptionand high treason! Itseemsourfriend the Master of the
Mintshasbeenmostindiscreetinsomeofhispersonaldealings.Itseemshehas
beentakingbribes,conspiringwiththeGuildofMercerstodefraudtheKing.As
such, it would be very useful if a ranking Mercer were to name him, in some
unfortunateconnection.”
It can hardly be a coincidence that I have a ranking Mercer in my
interrogation room, even as we speak. Glokta shrugged. “Once people start
talking,it’sshockingthenamesthattumbleout.”
“Good.” The Arch Lector waved his hand. “You may go, Inquisitor. I will
comeforTeufel’sconfessionthistimetomorrow.Youhadbetterhaveit.”
Gloktabreathedslowlyashelabouredbackalongthecorridor.
Breathin,breathout.Calm.Hehadnotexpectedtoleavethatroomalive.And
now I find myself moving in powerful circles. A personal task for the Arch
Lector, squeezing a confession to high treason from one of the Unions most
trusted officials. The most powerful of circles, but for how long? Why me?
Becauseofmyresults?OrbecauseIwon’tbemissed?
“I apologise for all the interruptions today, really I do, it’s like a brothel in
herewithallthecomingandgoing.”Rewstwistedhiscrackedandswollenlips
intoasad smile.Smilingata time likethis, he’s amarvel.But allthingsmust
end. “Let us be honest, Rews. No one is coming to help you. Not today, not
tomorrow,notever.Youwillconfess.Theonlychoicesyouhavearewhen,and
thestateyou’llbeinwhenyoudo.There’sreallynothingtobegainedbyputting
itoff.Exceptpain.We’vegotlotsofthatforyou.”
It was hard to read the expression on Rews’ bloody face, but his shoulders
sagged. He dipped the pen in the ink with a trembling hand, wrote his name,
slightlyslanted,acrossthebottomofthepaperofconfession.Iwinagain.Does
myleghurtanyless?DoIhavemyteethback?Hasithelpedmetodestroythis
man,whoIoncecalledafriend?ThenwhydoIdothis?Thescratchingofthe
nibonthepaperwastheonlyreply.
“Excellent,”saidGlokta.PracticalFrostturnedthedocumentover.“Andthis
is the list of your accomplices?” He let his eye scan lazily over the names. A
handfulofjuniorMercers,threeship’scaptains,anofficerofthecity watch,a
pairofminorcustomsofficials.Atediousrecipeindeed.Letusseeifwecanadd
somespice. Glokta turneditaroundand pushed it back across the table.“Add
SeppdanTeufel’snametothelist,Rews.”
The fat man looked confused. “The Master of the Mints?” he mumbled,
throughhisthicklips.
“That’stheone.”
“ButInevermettheman.”
“So?”snappedGlokta.“DoasItellyou.”Rewspaused,mouthalittleopen.
“Write,youfatpig.”PracticalFrostcrackedhisknuckles.
Rews licked his lips. “Sepp… dan… Teufel,” he mumbled to himself as he
wrote.
“Excellent.” Glokta carefully shut the lid on his horrible, beautiful
instruments.“I’mgladforbothoursakesthatwewon’tbeneedingthesetoday.”
Frostsnappedthemanaclesshutontheprisoner’swristsanddraggedhimto
hisfeet, started to marchhimtoward the dooratthe back of theroom.“What
now?”shoutedRewsoverhisshoulder.
“Angland,Rews,Angland.Don’tforgettopacksomethingwarm.”Thedoor
crackedshutbehindhim.Gloktalookedatthelistofnamesinhishands.Sepp
danTeufel’ssatatthebottom.Onename.Onthefaceofit,justliketheothers.
Teufel.Justonemorename.Butsuchaperilousone.
Severardwaswaitingoutsideinthecorridor,smilingasalways.“ShallIput
thefatmaninthecanal?”
“No,Severard.PuthiminthenextboattoAngland.”
“You’reinamercifulmoodtoday,Inquisitor.”
Gloktasnorted.“Mercywouldbethecanal.Thatswinewon’tlastsixweeks
intheNorth.Forgethim.WehavetoarrestSeppdanTeufeltonight.”
Severard’seyebrowsrose.“NottheMasteroftheMints?”
“Noneother.OntheexpressordersofhisEminencetheArchLector.Itseems
he’sbeentakingmoneyfromtheMercers.”
“Oh,forshame.”
“We’llleaveassoonasitgetsdark.TellFrosttobeready.”
ThethinPracticalnodded,hislonghairswaying.Gloktaturnedandhobbled
upthecorridor,canetappingonthegrimytiles,leftlegburning.
WhydoIdothis?Heaskedhimselfagain.
WhydoIdothis?
NoChoiceatAll
Logenwokewithapainfuljolt.Hewaslyingawkwardly,headtwistedagainst
somethinghard,kneesdrawnuptowardshischest.Heopenedhiseyesableary
crack. It was dark, but there was a faint glow coming from somewhere. Light
throughsnow.
Panicstabbedathim.Heknewwherehewasnow.He’dpiledsomesnowin
theentrance to thetinycave, totryand keep inthewarmth, such asitwas. It
musthavesnowedwhilehewassleeping,andsealedhimin.Ifthefallhadbeen
aheavyonetherecouldbealotofsnowoutthere.Driftsdeeperthanamanwas
tall.He might nevergetout. He couldhaveclimbed all thewayup out ofthe
highvalleysjusttodieinaholeintherock,toocrampedforhimtoevenstretch
outhislegs.
Logen twisted round in the narrow space as best he could, dug away at the
snowwithhisnumbhands,flounderingatit,grapplingwithit,hackingthrough
it, mouthing breathless curses to himself. Light spilled in suddenly, searing
bright. He shoved the last of the snow out of the way and dragged himself
throughintotheopenair.
Theskywasabrilliantblue,thesunwasblazingoverhead.Heturnedhisface
towardsit,closedhisstingingeyesandletthelightwashoverhim.Theairwas
painfulcoldinhisthroat.Cuttingcold.Hismouthwasdryasdust,histonguea
pieceofwood,badlycarved.Hescoopedupsnowandshoveditintohismouth.
Itmelted,heswallowed.Cold,itmadehisheadhurt.
Therewasagraveyardstinkcomingfromsomewhere.Notjusthisowndamp
andsoursweatsmell,thoughthatwasbadenough.Itwastheblanket,startingto
rot.Hehadtwopiecesofitwrappedroundhishandslikemittens,tiedroundhis
wristswithtwine,anotherroundhishead,likeadirty,foul-smellinghood.His
bootswerestuffedtightwithit.Therestwaswrappedroundandroundhisbody,
underhiscoat.Itsmelledbad,butithadsavedhislifelastnight,andthatwasa
good trade to Logen’s mind. It would stink a good deal more before he could
affordtogetridofit.
Heflounderedtohisfeetandstaredabout.Anarrowvalley,steepsidedand
chokedwithsnow.Threegreatpeakssurroundedit,pilesofdarkgreystoneand
whitesnowagainstthebluesky.Heknewthem.Oldfriends,infact.Theonly
oneshehadleft.HewasupintheHighPlaces.Theroofoftheworld.Hewas
safe.
“Safe,” he croaked to himself, but without much joy. Safe from food,
certainly.Safefromwarmth,withoutadoubt.Neitherofthosethingswouldbe
troublinghimuphere.He’descapedtheShanka,maybe,butthiswasaplacefor
thedead,andifhestayedhe’dbejoiningthem.
Hewasbrutalhungryasitwas.Hisbellywasagreat,painfulholethatcalled
tohimwithpiercingcries.Hefumbledinhispackforthelaststripofmeat.An
old,brown, greasy thing likeadry twig. Thatwouldhardly fill thegap,butit
wasallhehad.Hetoreatitwithhisteeth,toughasoldbootleather,andchoked
itdownwithsomesnow.
Logenshieldedhiseyeswithhisarmandlookednorthwarddownthevalley,
thewayhe’dcomethedaybefore.Thegrounddroppedslowlyaway,snowand
rockgivingwaytothepine-coveredfellsofthehighvalleys,treesgivingwayto
acrinkled stripofgrazing land,grassyhills givingway to thesea, a sparkling
lineonthefarhorizon.Home.ThethoughtofitmadeLogenfeelsick.
Home.Thatwaswherehisfamilywas.Hisfather—wiseandstrong,agood
man, a good leader to his people. His wife, his children. They were a good
family.Theydeservedabetterson,abetterhusband,abetterfather.Hisfriends
werethere too. Old andnewtogether.It would be goodtosee them allagain,
verygood.Tospeaktohisfatherinthelonghall.Toplaywithhischildren,tosit
withhiswifeby the river.To talk of tactics with Threetrees.Tohuntwiththe
Dogmaninthehighvalleys,crashingthroughtheforestwithaspear,laughing
likeafool.
Logen felt a sudden painful longing. He nearly choked on the pain of it.
Troublewas,theywerealldead.Thehallwasaringofblacksplinters,theriver
asewer.He’dneverforgetcomingoverthehill,seeingtheburnt-outruininthe
valleybelow.Crawlingthroughtheashes,fumblingforsignsthatsomeonegot
away, while the Dogman pulled at his shoulder and told him to give it up.
Nothingbutcorpses,rottedpastknowing.Hewasdonelookingforsigns.They
wereall dead as theShankacould make them,andthat was dead forsure.He
spat in the snow, brown spit from the dry meat. Dead and cold and rotted, or
burnedtoashes.Gonebacktothemud.
Logensethisjawandclenchedhisfistsundertherottenshredsofblanket.He
couldgobacktotheruinsofthevillagebythesea,justonelasttime.Hecould
chargedownwithafightingroarinhisthroat,thewayhehaddoneatCarleon,
whenhe’dlostafingerandwonareputation.HecouldputafewShankaoutof
the world. Split them like he’d split Shama Heartless, shoulder to guts so his
insidesfellout.Hecouldgetvengeanceforhisfather,hiswife,hischildren,his
friends.ThatwouldbeafittingendfortheonetheycalledtheBloody-Nine.To
diekilling.Thatmightbeasongworththesinging.
ButatCarleonhe’dbeenyoungandstrong,andwithhisfriendsbehindhim.
Now he was weak, and hungry, and alone as could be. He’d killed Shama
Heartlesswithalongsword,sharpasanything.Helookeddownathisknife.It
mightbeagoodone,buthe’dgetpreciouslittlevengeancewithit.Andwho’d
sing the song anyway? The Shanka had poor singing voices and worse
imaginations, if they even recognised the stinking beggar in the blanket after
they’dshothimfullofarrows.Perhapsthevengeancecouldwait,atleastuntil
hehadabiggerbladetoworkwith.Youhavetoberealistic,afterall.
Souththen,andbecomeawanderer.Therewasalwaysworkforamanwith
his skills. Hard work perhaps, and dark, but work all the same. There was an
appealinit,hehadtoadmit.Tohavenoonedependingonhimbuthimself,for
hisdecisionstoholdnoimportance,fornoone’slifeordeathtobeinhishands.
Hehadenemiesinthesouth,thatwasafact.ButtheBloody-Ninehaddealtwith
enemiesbefore.
Hespatagain.Nowthathehadsomespithethoughthemightmakethemost
of it. It was about all he did have—spit, an old pot, and some stinking bits of
blanket.Deadinthenorthoraliveinthesouth.Thatwaswhatitcamedownto,
andthatwasnochoiceatall.
Youcarryon.That’swhathe’dalwaysdone.That’sthetaskthatcomeswith
surviving, whether you deserve to live or not. You remember the dead as best
you can. You say some words for them. Then you carry on, and you hope for
better.
Logen took in a long, cold breath, and blew it out. “Fare you well, my
friends,” he muttered. “Fare you well.” Then he threw his pack over his
shoulder, turned, and began to flounder through the deep snow. Downwards,
southwards,outofthemountains.
Itwasraining,still.Asoftrainthatcoatedeverythingincolddew,collected
onthebranches,ontheleaves,ontheneedles,anddrippedoffingreatfatdrops
thatsoakedthroughLogen’swetclothesandontohiswetskin.
Hesquatted,stillandsilent,inthedampbrush,waterrunningdownhisface,
thebrightbladeofhisknifeglisteningwithwet.Hefeltthegreatmotionofthe
forestandheardallitsthousandsounds.Thecountlesscrawlingoftheinsects,
theblindscuttlingofthemoles,thetimidrustlingofthedeer,theslowpulsingof
thesapintheoldtreetrunks.Eachthingaliveintheforestwasinsearchofits
ownkindoffood,andhewasthesame.Helethismindsettleonananimalclose
tohim,movingcautiouslythroughthewoodstohisright.Delicious.Theforest
grewsilentbutfortheendlessdrippingofwaterfromthebranches.Theworld
shrankdowntoLogenandhisnextmeal.
Whenhereckoneditwascloseenough,hesprangforwardandboreitdown
onto the wet ground. A young deer. It kicked and struggled but he was strong
andquick,andhestabbedhisknifeintoitsneckandchoppedthethroatout.Hot
blood surged from the wound, spilled out across Logen’s hands, onto the wet
earth.
Hepickedupthecarcassandslungitoverhisshoulders.Thatwouldbegood
inastew,maybewithsomemushrooms.Verygood.Then,oncehe’deaten,he
would ask the spirits for guidance. Their guidance was pretty useless, but the
companywouldbewelcome.
Whenhereachedhiscampitwasclosetosunset.Itwasadwellingfitfora
heroofLogen’sstature—twobigsticksholdingaloadofdampbranchesovera
hollowinthedirt.Still,itwashalfwaydryinthere,andtherainhadstopped.He
wouldhaveafiretonight.Itwasalongtimesincehe’dhadatreatlikethat.A
fire,andallhisown.
Later,wellfedandrested,Logenpressedalumpofchaggaintohispipe.He’d
founditgrowingafewdaysbeforeatthebaseofatree,bigmoistyellowdiscs
ofit.He’dbrokenoffagoodchunkforhimself,butithadn’tdriedoutenoughto
smokeuntiltoday.Nowhetookaburningtwigfromthefireandstuckitinthe
bowl,puffingawayharduntilthefunguscaughtandbegantoburn,givingoffits
familiarearthy-sweetsmell.
Logen coughed, blew out brown smoke and stared into the shifting flames.
Hismindwentbacktoothertimesandothercampfires.TheDogmanwasthere,
grinning,thelightgleamingonhispointyteeth.TulDuruwassittingopposite,
big as a mountain, laughing like thunder. Forley the Weakest too, with those
nervouseyesdartingaround,alwaysalittlescared.RuddThreetreeswasthere,
and Harding Grim, saying nothing. He never did say anything. That was why
theycalledhimGrim.
Theywereallthere.Onlytheyweren’t.Theywerealldead,gonebacktothe
mud.Logentappedthepipeoutintothefireandshoveditaway.Hehadnotaste
foritnow.Hisfatherhadbeenright.Youshouldneversmokealone.
Heunscrewedthecapofthebatteredflask,tookamouthful,andblewitoutin
asprayoftinydrops.Agoutofflamewentupintothecoldair.Logenwipedhis
lips,savouringthehot,bittertaste.Thenhesatbackagainsttheknottedtrunkof
apine,andwaited.
Itwasawhilebeforetheycame.Threeofthem.Theycamesilentlyfromthe
dancingshadowsamongthetreesandmadeslowlyforthefire,takingshapeas
theymovedintothelight.
“Ninefingers,”saidthefirst.
“Ninefingers,”thesecond.
“Ninefingers,”thethird,voiceslikethethousandsoundsoftheforest.
“You’rerightwelcometomyfire,”saidLogen.Thespiritssquattedandstared
athimwithoutexpression.“Onlythreetonight?”
The one on the right spoke first. “Every year fewer of us wake from the
winter.Weareallthatremain.Afewmorewinterswillpass,andwewillsleep
also.Therewillbenoneofuslefttoansweryourcall.”
Logennoddedsadly.“Anynewsfromtheworld?”
“We heardaman felloffa cliffbutwashed upalive,then crossedtheHigh
Placesatthestartofspring,wrappedinarottenblanket,butweputnofaithin
suchrumours.”
“Verywise.”
“Bethodhasbeenmakingwar,”saidthespiritinthecentre.
Logenfrowned.“Bethodisalwaysmakingwar.That’swhathedoes.”
“Yes.Hehaswonsomanyfightsnow,withyourhelp,hehasgivenhimselfa
goldenhat.”
“Shitonthatbastard,”saidLogen,spittingintothefire.“Whatelse?”
“Northofthemountains,theShankarunaroundandburnthings.”
“Theylovethefire,”saidthespiritinthecentre.
“Theydo,”saidtheoneontheleft,“evenmorethanyourkind,Ninefingers.
They love and fear it.” The spirit leaned forwards. “We heard there is a man
seekingforyouinthemoorstothesouth.”
“Apowerfulman,”saidtheoneinthecentre.
“AMagusoftheOldTime,”theoneontheleft.
Logenfrowned.He’dheardoftheseMagi.Hemetasorcereronce,buthe’d
beeneasytokill.Nounnaturalpowersinparticular,notthatLogenhadnoticed.
ButaMaguswassomethingelse.
“We heard that the Magi are wise and strong,” said the spirit in the centre,
“andthatsuchaonecouldtakeamanfarandshowhimmanythings.Butthey
arecraftytoo,andhavetheirownpurposes.”
“Whatdoeshewant?”
“Askhim.”Spiritscaredlittleforthebusinessofmen,theywerealwaysweak
onthedetails.Still,thiswasbetterthantheusualtalkabouttrees.
“Whatwillyoudo,Ninefingers?”
Logen considered a moment. “I will go south and find this Magus, and ask
himwhathewantsfromme.”
Thespiritsnodded.Theydidn’tshowwhethertheythoughtitwasagoodidea
orbad.Theydidn’tcare.
“Farewellthen,Ninefingers,”saidthespiritontheright,“perhapsforthelast
time.”
“I’lltrytostruggleonwithoutyou.”
Logen’switwaswastedon them.Theyroseand movedaway fromthe fire,
fadinggraduallyintothedarkness.Soontheyweregone,butLogenhadtoadmit
theyhadbeenmoreusethanhedaredtohope.Theyhadgivenhimapurpose.
Hewould head southin the morning,head south andfindthis Magus.Who
knew?Hemightbeagoodtalker.Hadtobebetterthanbeingshotfullofarrows
fornothing,atleast.Logenlookedintotheflames,noddingslowlytohimself.
Herememberedothertimesandothercampfires,whenhehadnotbeenalone.
PlayingWithKnives
Itwas a beautifulspring day inAdua, and thesunshone pleasantlythrough
the branches of the aromatic cedar, casting a dappled shade on the players
beneath. A pleasing breeze fluttered through the courtyard, so the cards were
clutchedtightlyorweighteddownwithglassesorcoins.Birdstwitteredfromthe
trees,andtheshearsofagardenerclackedacrossfromthefarsideofthelawn,
makingfaint,agreeableechoesagainstthetallwhitebuildingsofthequadrangle.
Whether or not the players found the large sum of money in the centre of the
tablepleasantdepended,ofcourse,onthecardstheyheld.
Captain Jezal dan Luthar certainly liked it. He had discovered an uncanny
talentforthegamesincehegainedhiscommissionintheKing’sOwn,atalent
which he had used to win large sums of money from his comrades. He didn’t
reallyneedthemoney,ofcourse,comingfromsuchawealthyfamily,butithad
allowed him to maintain an illusion of thrift while spending like a sailor.
WheneverJezalwenthome,hisfatherboredeveryoneonthesubjectofhisgood
fiscalplanning,andhadrewardedhimbybuyinghisCaptaincyjustsixmonths
ago.Hisbrothershadnotbeenhappy.Yes,themoneywascertainlyuseful,and
there’snothinghalfsoamusingashumiliatingone’sclosestfriends.
Jezal half sat, half lay back on his bench with one leg stretched out, and
allowedhiseyes to wander over theotherplayers. Major Westhad rocked his
chairsofarontoitsbacklegsthathelookedinimminentdangeroftippingover
entirely.Hewasholdinghisglassuptothesun,admiringthewaythatthelight
filteredthroughtheamberspiritinside.Hehadafaint,mysterioussmilewhich
seemedtosay,“Iamnotanobleman,andmaybeyoursocialinferior,butIwon
aContestandtheKing’sfavouronthebattlefieldandthatmakesmethebetter
man, so you children will damn well do as I say.” He was out of this hand
though,and,inJezal’sopinion,fartoocautiouswithhismoneyanyway.
Lieutenant Kaspa was sitting forward, frowning and scratching his sandy
beard, staring intently at his cards as though they were sums he didn’t
understand. He was a good-humoured young man but an oaf of a card player,
andwasalways mostappreciativewhenJezalboughthimdrinkswithhisown
money. Still, he could well afford to lose it: his father was one of the biggest
landownersintheUnion.
Jezalhadoftenobservedthattheeversoslightlystupidwillactmorestupidly
inclevercompany.Havinglostthe high ground already they scramble eagerly
forthepositionoflikeableidiot,stayoutofargumentstheywillonlylose,and
canhencebeeveryone’sfriend.Kaspa’slookofbaffledconcentrationseemedto
say, “I am not clever, but honest and likeable, which is much more important.
Cleverness is overrated. Oh, and I’m very, very rich, so everyone likes me
regardless.”
“Ibelieve I’llstaywith you,”saidKaspa, andtosseda smallstack of silver
coinsontothetable.Theybrokeand flashed in the sun with a cheerful jingle.
Jezal absently added up the total in his head. A new uniform perhaps? Kaspa
always got a little quivery when he really held good cards, and he was not
tremblingnow.Tosaythathewasbluffingwastogivehimfartoomuchcredit;
more likely he was simply bored with sitting out. Jezal had no doubt that he
wouldfolduplikeacheaptentonthenextroundofbetting.
Lieutenant Jalenhorm scowled and tossed his cards onto the able. “I’ve had
nothingbut shit today!” herumbled.Hesat back in hischairand hunched his
brawnyshoulderswithafrownthataid,“Iambigandmanly,andhaveaquick
temper,soIshouldbetreatedwithrespectbyeveryone.”Respectwasprecisely
whatJezalnevergavehimatthecardtable.Abadtempermightbeusefulina
fight, but it’s a liability where money is concerned, it was a shame his hand
hadn’t been a little better, or Jezal could’ve allied him out of half his pay.
Jalenhormdrainedhisglassandreachedforthebottle.
ThatjustleftBrint,theyoungestandpoorestofthegroup.Helickedhislips
withan expression atoncecareful and slightlydesperate,an expressionwhich
seemedto say, “I amnotyoung orpoor. I canafford to losethismoney. I am
everybitasimportantastherestofyou.”Hehadalotofmoneytoday;perhaps
his allowance had just come in. Perhaps that was all he had to live on for the
next couple of months. Jezal planned to take that money away from him and
wasteitallonwomenanddrink.Hehadtostophimselfgigglingatthethought.
He could giggle when he’d won the hand. Brint sat back and considered
carefully. He might be some time making his decision, so Jezal took his pipe
fromthetable.
He lit it at the lamp provided especially for that purpose and blew ragged
smokeringsupintothebranchesofthecedar.Hewasn’thalfasgoodatsmoking
ashewasatcards,unfortunately,andmostoftheringswerenomorethanugly
puffs of yellow-brown vapour. If he was being completely honest, he didn’t
reallyenjoysmoking.Itmadehimfeelabitsick,butitwasveryfashionableand
veryexpensive,andJezalwouldbedamnedifhewouldmissoutonsomething
fashionablejustbecausehedidn’tlikeit.Besides,hisfatherhadboughthima
beautifulivorypipethelasttimehewasinthecity,anditlookedverywellon
him.Hisbrothershadnotbeenhappyaboutthateither,cometothinkofit.
“I’min,”saidBrint.
Jezalswunghislegoffthebench.“ThenIraiseyouahundredmarksorso.”
Heshovedhiswholestackintothecentreofthetable.Westsuckedairthrough
histeeth.Acoinfellfromthetopofthepile,landedonitsedgeandrolledalong
thewood.Itdroppedtotheflagsbeneathwiththeunmistakeablesoundoffalling
money. The head of the gardener on the other side of the lawn snapped up
instinctively,beforehereturnedtohisclippingofthegrass.
Kaspa shoved his cards away as though they were burning his fingers and
shook his head. “Damn it but I’m an oaf of a card player,” he lamented, and
leanedbackagainsttheroughbrowntrunkofthetree.
Jezal stared straight at Lieutenant Brint, a slight smile on his face, giving
nothing away. “He’s bluffing,” rumbled Jalenhorm, “don’t let him push you
around,Brint.”
“Don’tdoit,Lieutenant,”saidWest,butJezalknewhewould.Hehadtolook
asifhecouldaffordtolose.Brintdidn’thesitate,hepushedallhisowncoinsin
withacarelessflourish.
“That’s a hundred, give or take.” Brint was trying his hardest to sound
masterful in front of the older officers, but his voice had a charming note of
hysteria.
“Good enough,” said Jezal, “we’re all friends here. What do you have,
Lieutenant?”
“Ihaveearth.”Brint’seyeshadaslightlyfeverishlooktothemasheshowed
hiscardstothegroup.
Jezal savoured the tense atmosphere. He frowned, shrugged, raised his
eyebrows. He scratched his head thoughtfully. He watched Brint’s expression
change as he changed his own. Hope, despair, hope, despair. At length Jezal
spreadhiscardsoutonthetable.“Ohlook.Ihavesuns,again.”
Brint’s face was a picture. West gave a sigh and shook his head. Jalenhorm
frowned.“Iwassurehewasbluffing,”hesaid.
“Howdoeshedoit?”askedKaspa,flickingastraycoinacrossthetable.
Jezalshrugged.“It’s all abouttheplayers,and nothing about the cards.” He
begantoscoopuptheheapofsilverwhileBrint looked on, teeth gritted, face
pale. The money jingled into the bag with a pleasant sound. Pleasant to Jezal,
anyway. A coin dropped from the table and fell next to Brint’s boot. “You
couldn’t fetch that for me could you Lieutenant?” asked Jezal, with a syrupy
smile.
Brint stood up quickly, knocking into the table and making the coins and
glasses jump and rattle. “I’ve things to do,” he said in a thick voice, then
shouldered roughly past Jezal, barging him against the trunk of the tree, and
strode off toward the edge of the courtyard. He disappeared into the officers’
quarters,headdown.
“Did you see that?” Jezal was becoming ever more indignant with each
passingmoment.“Bargingmelikethat,it’sdamnimpolite!Andmehissuperior
officer as well! I’ve a good mind to put him on report!” A chorus of
disapprovingsounds greeted thismention of reports.“Well,he’s abadloser is
all!”
Jalenhormlookedsternlyoutfrombeneathhisbrows.“Youshouldn’tbitehim
sohard.Heisn’trich.Hecan’taffordtolose.”
“Well if he can’t afford to lose he shouldn’t play!” snapped Jezal, upset.
“Who’stheonetoldhimIwasbluffing?Youshouldkeepyourbigmouthshut!”
“He’snewhere,”saidWest,“hejustwantstofitin.Weren’tyounewonce?”
“Whatareyou,myfather?”Jezalrememberedbeingnewwithpainfulclarity,
andthementionofitmadehimfeeljustalittleashamed.
Kaspawavedhishand.“I’lllendhimsomemoney,don’tworry”
“Hewon’ttakeit,”saidJalenhorm.
“Well,that’shisbusiness.”Kaspaclosedhiseyesandturnedhisfaceuptothe
sun.“Hot.Winteristrulyover.Mustbegettingpastmidday.”
“Shit!” shouted Jezal, starting up and gathering his things. The gardener
pausedinhistrimmingofthelawnandlookedoveratthem.“Whydidn’tyou
saysomething,West?”
“WhatamI,yourfather?”askedtheMajor.Kaspasniggered.
“Lateagain,”saidJalenhorm,blowingouthischeeks.“TheLordMarshalwill
notbehappy!”
Jezalsnatcheduphisfencingsteelsandranforthefarsideofthelawn.Major
Westambledafterhim.“Comeon!”shoutedJezal.
“I’mrightbehindyou,Captain,”hesaid.“Rightbehindyou.”
“Jab,jab,Jezal,jab,jab!”barkedLordMarshalVaruz,whackinghimonthe
armwithhisstick.
“Ow,”yelpedJezal,andheftedthemetalbaragain.
“Iwanttoseethatrightarmmoving,Captain,dartinglikeasnake!Iwantto
beblindedbythespeedofthosehands!”
Jezalmadeacouplemoreclumsylungeswiththeunwieldylumpofiron.It
wasuttertorture.Hisfingers,hiswrist,hisforearm,hisshoulder,wereburning
withtheeffort.Hewassoakedtotheskinwithsweat;itflewfromhisfaceinbig
drops. Marshal Varuz flicked his feeble efforts away. “Now, cut! Cut with the
left!”
Jezalswungthebigsmith’shammerattheoldman’sheadwithallthestrength
inhisleftarm.Hecouldbarelyliftthedamnthingonagoodday.MarshalVaruz
steppedeffortlesslyasideandwhackedhiminthefacewiththestick.
“Yow!” wailed Jezal, as he stumbled back. He fumbled the hammer and it
droppedonhisfoot.“Aaargh!”Theironbarclangedtothefloorashebentdown
tograbhisscreamingtoes.HefeltastingingpainasVaruzwhackedhimacross
thearse,thesharpsmackechoingacrossthecourtyard,andhesprawledontohis
face.
“That’s pitiful!” shouted theoldman.“You are embarrassingmeinfront of
Major West!” The Major had rocked his chair back and was shaking with
muffled laughter. Jezal stared at the Marshal’s immaculately polished boots,
seeingnopressingneedtogetup.
“Up,CaptainLuthar!”shoutedVaruz.“Mytimeatleastisvaluable!”
“Alright! Alright!” Jezal clambered wearily to his feet and stood there
swayinginthehotsun,pantingforair,runningwithsweat.
Varuzsteppedclosetohimandsniffedathisbreath.“Haveyoubeendrinking
todayalready?”hedemanded,hisgreymoustachesbristling.“Andlastnighttoo,
no doubt!” Jezal had no reply. “Well damn you, then! We have work to do,
Captain Luthar, and I cannot do it alone! Four months until the Contest, four
monthstomakeamasterswordsmanofyou!”
Varuzwaitedforareply,butJezalcouldnotthinkofone.Hewasonlyreally
doingthistomakehisfatherhappy,butsomehowhedidn’tthinkthatwaswhat
theoldsoldierwantedtohear,andhecoulddowithoutbeinghitagain.“Bah!”
VaruzbarkedinJezal’sface,andturnedaway,stickclenchedtightbehindhimin
bothhands.
“MarshalVar—”Jezalbegan,butbeforehecouldfinishtheoldsoldierspan
aroundandjabbedhimrightinthestomach.
“Gargh,”saidJezalashesanktohisknees.Varuzstoodoverhim.
“Youaregoingtogoonalittlerunforme,Captain.”
“Aaaargh.”
“YouaregoingtorunfromheretotheTowerofChains.Youaregoingtorun
upthetowertotheparapet.Wewillknowwhenyouhavearrived,astheMajor
andIwillbeenjoyingarelaxinggameofsquaresontheroof,”heindicatedthe
six-storeybuildingbehindhim,“inplainviewofthetopofthetower.Iwillbe
abletoseeyouwithmyeye-glass,sotherewillbenocheatingthistime!”andhe
whackedJezalonthetopofthehead.
“Ow,”saidJezal,rubbinghisscalp.
“Havingshownyourselfontheroof,youwillrunback.Youwillrunasfastas
youcan,andIknowthistobetrue,becauseifyouhavenotreturnedbythetime
wehavefinishedourgame,youwillgoagain.”Jezalwinced.“MajorWestisan
excellenthandatsquares,soitshouldtakemehalfanhourtobeathim.Isuggest
youbeginatonce.”
Jezallurchedtohisfeetandjoggedtowardthearchwayatthefarsideofthe
courtyard,mutteringcurses.
“You’llneedtogofaster thanthat, Captain!”Varuzcalledafterhim.Jezal’s
legswereblocksoflead,butheurgedthemon.
“Kneesup!”shoutedMajorWestcheerily.
Jezal clattered down the passageway, past a smirking porter sitting by the
door, and out onto the broad avenue beyond. He jogged past the ivy-covered
wallsoftheUniversity,cursingthenamesofVaruzandWestunderhisheaving
breath,thenbythenearwindowlessmassoftheHouseofQuestions,itsheavy
frontgatesealedtight.Hepassedafewcolourlessclerkshurryingthiswayand
that, but the Agriont was quiet at this time of the afternoon, and Jezal saw
nobodyofinterestuntilhepassedintothepark.
Threefashionableyoungladiesweresittingintheshadeofaspreadingwillow
by the lake, accompanied by an elderly chaperone. Jezal upped his pace
immediately,andreplacedhistorturedexpressionwithanonchalantsmile.
“Ladies,”he saidashe flashed past.He heard themgiggling to oneanother
behindhimand silently congratulated himself, butslowedtohalf the speed as
soonashewasoutofsight.
“Varuzbedamned,”hesaidtohimself,nearlywalkingasheturnedontothe
Kingsway,but hadto speedup againstraightaway.CrownPrinceLadislawas
nottwentystridesoff,holdingforthtohisenormous,brightlycolouredretinue.
“CaptainLuthar!”shoutedhisHighness,sunlightflashingoffhisoutrageous
goldenbuttons,“runforallyou’reworth!Ihaveathousandmarksonyoutowin
theContest!”
JezalhaditongoodauthoritythatthePrincehadbackedBremerdanGorstto
thetuneoftwothousandmarks,buthestillbowedaslowashepossiblycould
while running. The prince’s entourage of dandies cheered and shouted half-
heartedencouragementsathisrecedingback.“Bloodyidiots,”hissedJezalunder
hisbreath,buthewouldhavelovedtobeoneofthem.
HepassedthehugestoneeffigiesofsixhundredyearsofHighKingsonhis
right,thestatuesoftheirloyalretainers,slightlysmaller,onhisleft.Henodded
tothegreatMagusBayazjustbeforeheturnedintotheSquareofMarshals,but
thewizardfrownedbackasdisapprovinglyasever,theawe-inspiringeffectonly
slightlydiminishedbyastreakofwhitepigeonshitonhisstonycheek.
WiththeOpenCouncilinsessionthesquarewasalmostempty,andJezalwas
abletoambleovertothegateoftheHallsMartial.Athicksetsergeantnoddedto
him as he passed through, and Jezal wondered whether he might be from his
owncompany—thecommonsoldiersalllookedthesame,afterall.Heignored
themanandranonbetweenthetoweringwhitebuildings.
“Perfect,”mutteredJezal.JalenhormandKaspaweresittingbythedoortothe
TowerofChains,smokingpipesandlaughing.Thebastardsmusthaveguessed
thathe’dbecomingthisway.
“Forhonour,andglory!”bellowedKaspa,rattlinghisswordinitsscabbardas
Jezalranby.“Don’tkeeptheLordMarshalwaiting!”heshoutedfrombehind,
andJezalheardthebigmanroaringwithamusement.
“Bloodyidiots,”pantedJezal,shoulderingopentheheavydoor,breathrasping
ashestartedupthesteepspiralstaircase.Itwasoneofthehighesttowersinthe
Agriont:thereweretwohundredandninety-onestepsinall.“Bloodysteps,”he
cursedtohimself.Bythetimehereachedthehundredthhislegswereburning
andhischestwasheaving.Bythetimehereachedthetwo-hundredthhewasa
wreck.Hewalkedtherestoftheway,everyfootfalltorture,andeventuallyburst
out through a turret onto the roof and leaned on the parapet, blinking in the
suddenbrightness.
To the south the city was spread out below him, an endless carpet of white
houses stretching all around the glittering bay. In the other direction, the view
over the Agriont was even more impressive. A great confusion of magnificent
buildings piled one upon the other, broken up by green lawns and great trees,
circled by its wide moat and its towering wall, studded with a hundred lofty
towers. The Kingsway sliced straight through the centre toward the Lords’
Round,itsbronzedomeshininginthesunlight.ThetallspiresoftheUniversity
stoodbehind,andbeyondthemloomedthegrimimmensityoftheHouseofthe
Maker,rearinghighoveralllikeadarkmountain,castingitslongshadowacross
thebuildingsbelow.
Jezal fancied that he saw the sun glint on Marshal Varuz’ eyeglass in the
distance.Hecursedonceagainandmadeforthestairs.
Jezalwasimmenselyrelievedwhenhefinallymadeittotheroofandsawthat
therewerestillafewwhitepiecesontheboard.
MarshalVaruzfrownedupathim.“Youareverylucky.TheMajorhasputup
anexceptionallydetermineddefence.”AsmilebrokeWest’sfeatures.“Youmust
somehowhaveearnedhisrespect,evenifyouhaveyettowinmine.”
Jezalbentoverwithhishandsonhisknees,blowinghardanddrippingsweat
ontothefloor.Varuztookthelongcasefromthetable,walkedovertoJezaland
flippeditopen.“Showusyourforms.”
Jezaltooktheshortsteelinhislefthandandthelonginhisright.Theyfelt
light as feathers after the heavy iron. Marshal Varuz backed away a step.
“Begin.”
Hesnappedintothefirstform,rightarmextended,leftclosetothebody.The
blades swished and weaved through the air, glittering in the afternoon sun as
Jezalmovedfromonefamiliarstancetothenextwithapractisedsmoothness.At
lengthhewasfinished,andheletthesteelsdroptohissides.
Varuznodded.“TheCaptainhasfasthands,hashenot?”
“Trulyexcellent,”saidMajorWest,smilingbroadly.“Adamnsightbetterthan
everIwas.”
The Lord Marshal was less impressed. “Your knees are too far bent in the
thirdform,andyoumuststriveformoreextensionontheleftarminthefourth,
butotherwise,”hepaused,“passable.”Jezalbreathedasighofrelief.Thatwas
highpraiseindeed.
“Hah!”shoutedtheoldman,strikinghimintheribswiththeendofthecase.
Jezalsanktothefloor,hardlyabletobreathe.“Yourreflexesneedwork,though,
Captain.Youshouldalwaysbeready.Always.Ifyouhavesteelsinyourhands,
youdamnwellkeepthemup.”
“Yes,sir,”croakedJezal.
“Andyourstaminaisadisgrace,youareblowinglikeacarp.Ihaveitongood
authoritythatBremerdanGorstrunstenmilesaday,andbarelyshowsasweat.”
MarshalVaruzleaneddownoverhim.“Fromnowonyouwilldothesame.Oh
yes. A circuit of the wall of the Agriont every morning at six, followed by an
hourofsparringwithMajorWest,whohasbeenkindenoughtoagreetoactas
yourpartner.Iamconfidentthathewillpointupallthelittleweaknessesinyour
technique.”
Jezalwincedandrubbedhisachingribs.“Asforthecarousing,Iwantanend
toit.Iamallforrevelryinitsproperplace,buttherewillbetimeforcelebration
after the Contest, providing you have worked hard enough to win. Until then,
clean living is what we need. Do you understand me, Captain Luthar?” He
leaned down further, pronouncing every word with great care. “Clean. Living.
Captain.”
“Yes,MarshalVaruz,”mumbledJezal.
Sixhourslaterhewasdrunkerthanshit.Laughinglikealunaticheplunged
outintothestreet,headspinning.Thecoldairslappedhimhardintheface,the
mean little buildings weaved and swayed, the ill-lit road tipped like a sinking
ship.Jezalwrestledmanfullywiththeurgetovomit,tookaswaggeringstepout
intothestreet,turnedtofacethedoor.Smearybrightlightandloudsounds of
laughterandshoutingwashedoutathim.Araggedshapeflewfromthetavern
andstruckhiminthechest.Jezalgrappledwithitdesperately,thenfell.Hehit
thegroundwithabone-jarringcrash.
Theworldwas dark for a moment,thenhefound himself squashed intothe
dirtwithKaspaontopofhim.“Damnit!”hegurgled,tonguethickandclumsy
in his mouth. He shoved the giggling Lieutenant away with his elbow, rolled
overandlurchedup,stumblingaboutasthestreetsee-sawedaroundhim.Kaspa
layonhisbackinthedirt,chokingwith laughter, reeking of cheap booze and
soursmoke.Jezalmadealameattempttobrushthedirtfromhisuniform.There
wasabigwetpatchonhischestthatsmelledofbeer.“Damnit!”hemumbled
again.“Whenhadthathappened?”
Hebecameaware of someshoutingonthe other side oftheroad. Two men
grapplingina doorway. Jezal squinted hard, strained againstthegloom.Abig
man had hold of some well-dressed fellow, and seemed to be tying his hands
behind his back. Now he was forcing some kind of bag over his head. Jezal
blinkedindisbelief.Itwasfarfromareputablearea,butthisseemedsomewhat
strong.
ThedoorofthetavernbangedopenandWestandJalenhormcameout,deep
in drunken conversation, something about someone’s sister. Bright light cut
acrossthestreetandilluminatedthetwostrugglingmenstarkly.Thebigonewas
dressedallinblack,withamaskoverthelowerpartofhisface.Hehadwhite
hair,whiteeyebrows,skinwhiteasmilk.Jezalstaredatthewhitedevilacross
theroad,andheglaredbackwithnarrowedpinkeyes.
“Help!”Itwasthefellowwiththebagonhishead,hisvoiceshrillwithfear.
“Help, I am—” The white man dealt him a savage blow in the midriff and he
foldedupwithasigh.
“Youthere!”shoutedWest.
Jalenhormwasalreadyrushingacrossthestreet.
“What?”saidKaspa,proppeduponhiselbowsintheroad.
Jezal’smindwasfullofmud,buthisfeetseemedtobefollowingJalenhorm,
sohestumbledalongwiththem,feelingverysick.Westcamebehindhim.The
white ghost started up and turned to stand between them and his prisoner.
Anothermanmovedbrisklyoutoftheshadows,tallandthin,dressedallinblack
andmasked,butwithlonggreasyhair.Heheldupaglovedhand.
“Gentlemen,” his whining commoner’s voice was muffled by his mask,
“gentlemenplease,we’reontheBang’sbusiness!”
“TheKingconductshisbusinessintheday-time,”growledJalenhorm.
Thenewarrival’smasktwitchedslightlyashesmiled.“That’swhyheneeds
usforthenight-timestuff,eh,friend?”
“Whoisthisman?”Westwaspointingatthefellowwiththebagonhishead.
The prisoner was struggling up again. “I am Sepp dan—oof!” The white
monstersilencedhimwithaheavyfistintheface,knockinghimlimpintothe
road.
Jalenhormputahandonthehiltofhissword,jawclenching,andthewhite
ghostloomedforwardwithaterriblespeed.Closeuphewasevenmoremassive,
alien,andterrifying.Jalenhormtookaninvoluntarystepback,stumbledonthe
ruttedsurfaceoftheroadandpitchedonto his back with a crash. Jezal’shead
wasthumping.
“Back!” bellowed West. His sword whipped out of its scabbard with a faint
ringing.
“Thaaaaah!”hissedthemonster,fistsclenchedliketwobigwhiterocks.
“Aargh,”gurgledthemanwiththebagonhishead.
Jezal’sheartwasinhismouth.Helookedatthethinman.Thethinman’seyes
smiledback.Howcouldanyonesmileatatimelikethis?Jezalwassurprisedto
seethat hehada long,ugly knifeinhis hand.Wheredid thatcome from?He
fumbleddrunkenlyforhissword.
“MajorWest!”cameavoicefromtheshadowsdownthestreet,Jezalpaused,
uncertain, steel halfway out. Jalenhorm scrambled to his feet, the back of his
uniformcrustedwithmud,pulledouthisownsword.Thepalemonsterstaredat
themunblinking,notretreatingafinger’sbreadth.
“Major West!” came the voice again, accompanied now by a clicking,
scraping sound. West’s face had turned pale. A figure emerged from the
shadows, limping badly, cane tapping on the dirt. His broad-brimmed hat
obscured the upper part of his face, but his mouth was twisted into a strange
smile.Jezalnoticedwithasuddenwaveofnauseathathisfourfrontteethwere
missing.Heshuffledtowardsthem,ignoringallthenakedsteel,andofferedhis
freehandtoWest.
The Major slowly sheathed his sword, took the hand and shook it limply.
“ColonelGlokta?”heaskedinahuskyvoice.
“Your humble servant, though I’m no longer an army man. I’m with the
King’s Inquisition now.” He reached up slowly and removed his hat. His face
wasdeathlypale,deeplylined,close-croppedhairscatteredwithgrey.Hiseyes
staredoutfeverishbrightfromdeep,darkrings,theleftonenoticeablynarrower
than the right, pink-rimmed and glistening wet. “And these are my assistants,
PracticalsSeverard,”thelankyonegaveamockeryofabow,“andFrost.”
Thewhitemonsterjerkedtheprisonertohisfeetwithonehand.“Holdon,”
said Jalenhorm, stepping forward, but the Inquisitor put a gentle hand on his
arm.
“ThismanisaprisonerofHisMajesty’sInquisition,LieutenantJalenhorm.”
Thebigmanpaused,surprisedtobecalledbyname.“Irealiseyourmotivesare
of the best, but he is a criminal, a traitor. I have a warrant for him, signed by
ArchLectorSulthimself.Heismostunworthyofyourassistance,believeme.”
Jalenhorm frowned and stared balefully at Practical Frost. The pale devil
looked terrified. About as terrified as a stone. He hauled the prisoner over his
shoulder without apparent effort and turned up the street. The one called
Severardsmiledwithhiseyes,sheathedhisknife,bowedagainandfollowedhis
companion,whistlingtunelesslyashesaunteredoff.
The Inquisitor’s left eyelid began to flutter and tears rolled down his pale
cheek. He wiped it carefully on the back of his hand. “Please forgive me.
Honestly.It’scomingtosomethingwhenamancan’tcontrolhisowneyes,eh?
Damnweepingjelly.SometimesIthinkIshouldjusthaveitout,andmakedo
with a patch.” Jezal’s stomach roiled. “How long has it been, West? Seven
years?Eight?”
AmusclewasworkingonthesideoftheMajor’shead.“Nine.”
“Imaginethat.Nineyears.Canyoubelieveit?Itseemslikeonlyyesterday.It
wasontheridge,wasn’tit,whereweparted?”
“Ontheridge,yes.”
“Don’tworry,West,Idon’tblameyouintheleast.”GloktaslappedtheMajor
warmly on the arm. “Not for that, anyway. You tried to talk me out of it, I
remember.IhadtimeenoughtothinkaboutitinGurkhul,afterall.Lotsoftime
tothink.Youwerealwaysagoodfriendtome.AndnowyoungCollemWest,a
Major in the King’s Own, imagine that.” Jezal had not the slightest idea what
theyweretalkingabout.Hewantedonlytobesick,thengotobed.
InquisitorGloktaturnedtowardhimwithasmile, displayingonce againthe
hideousgapinhisteeth.“AndthismustbeCaptainLuthar,forwhomeveryone
hassuchhighhopesinthecomingContest.MarshalVaruzisahardmaster,ishe
not?”HewavedhiscaneweaklyatJezal.“Jab,jab,eh,Captain?Jab,jab.”
Jezalfelthisbilerising.Hecoughedandlookeddownathisfeet,willingthe
worldtoremainmotionless.TheInquisitorlookedaroundexpectantlyateachof
them in turn. West looked pale. Jalenhorm mud-stained and sulky. Kaspa was
stillsittingintheroad.Noneofthemhadanythingtosay.
Gloktaclearedhisthroat.“Well,dutycalls,”hebowedstiffly,“butIhopeto
seeyouallagain.Verysoon.”Jezalfoundhimselfhopingheneversawtheman
again.
“Perhapswemightfenceagainsometime?”mutteredMajorWest.
Gloktagaveagoodnaturedlaugh.“Oh,Iwouldenjoythat,West,butIfind
thatI’meversoslightlycrippledthesedays.Ifyou’reafterafight,I’msurethat
PracticalFrostcouldobligeyou,”helookedoveratJalenhorm,“butImustwarn
you, he doesn’t fight like a gentleman. I wish you all a pleasant evening.” He
placed his hat back on his head then turned slowly and shuffled off down the
dingystreet.
The three officers watched him limp away in an interminable, awkward
silence.Kaspafinallystumbledover.“Whatwasallthatabout?”heasked.
“Nothing,”saidWestthroughgrittedteeth.“Bestweforgetiteverhappened.”
TeethandFingers
Time is short. We must work quickly. Glokta nodded to Severard, and he
smiledandpulledthebagoffSeppdanTeufel’shead.
The Master of the Mints was a strong, noble-looking man. His face was
alreadystartingtobruise.“Whatisthemeaningofthis?”heroared,allbluster
andbravado.“DoyouknowwhoIam?”
Gloktasnorted.“Ofcourseweknowwhoyouare.Doyouthinkweareinthe
habitofsnatchingpeoplefromthestreetsatrandom?”
“I am the Master of the Royal Mints!” yelled the prisoner, struggling at his
bonds. Practical Frost looked on impassively, arms folded. The irons were
alreadyglowingorangeinthebrazier.“Howdareyou…”
“Wecannothavetheseconstantinterruptions!”shoutedGlokta.Frostkicked
Teufelsavagelyintheshinandheyelpedwithpain.“Howcanourprisonersign
hispaperofconfessionifhishandsaretied?Pleasereleasehim.”
Teufelstaredsuspiciouslyaroundasthealbinountiedhiswrists.Thenhesaw
thecleaver.Thepolishedbladeshonemirrorbrightintheharshlamplight.Truly
athingofbeauty.You’dliketohavethat,wouldn’tyou,Teufel?Ibetyou’dliketo
cut my head off with it. Glokta almost hoped that he would, his right hand
seemed to be reaching for it, but he used it to shove the paper of confession
awayinstead.
“Ah,”saidGlokta,“theMasteroftheMintsisaright-handedgentleman.”
“Aright-handedgentleman,”Severardhissedintheprisoner’sear.
Teufel was staring across the table through narrowed eyes. “I know you!
Glokta, isn’t it? The one who was captured in Gurkhul, the one they tortured.
SanddanGlokta,amIright?Well,you’reinoveryourheadthistime,Icantell
you!Rightinoveryourhead!WhenHighJusticeMaroviahearsaboutthis…”
Glokta sprang to his feet, his chair screeching on the tiles. His left leg was
agony,butheignoredit.“Lookatthis!”hehissed,thenopenedhismouthwide,
giving the horrified prisoner a good look at his teeth. Or what’s left of them.
“Youseethat?Yousee?Wheretheycrackedouttheteethabove,theyleftthem
below,andwheretheytookthemoutbelow,theyleftthemabove,allthewayto
theback.See?”GloktapulledhischeeksbackwithhisfingerssoTeufelcould
get a better view. “They did it with a tiny chisel. A little bit each day. It took
months.”Gloktasatdownstiffly,thensmiledwide.
“Whatexcellentwork,eh?Theironyofit!Toleaveyouhalfyourteeth,but
not a one of ’em any use! I have soup most days.” The Master of the Mints
swallowedhard.Gloktacouldseeadropofsweatrunningdownhisneck.“And
theteethwerejustthebeginning.Ihavetopisssittingdownlikeawoman,you
know.I’mthirty-fiveyearsold,andIneedhelpgettingoutofbed.”Heleaned
backagain and stretched outhisleg with awince.“Every day is itsownlittle
hellforme.Everyday.Sotellme,canyouseriouslybelievethatanythingyou
mightsaycouldscareme?”
Gloktastudiedhisprisoner,takinghistime.Nolongerhalfsosureofhimself.
“Confess,” he whispered. “Then we can ship you off to Angland and still get
somesleeptonight.”
Teufel’s face had turned almost as pale as Practical Frost’s, but he said
nothing.TheArch Lectorwillbeheresoon.Alreadyonhisway,most likely.If
there is no confession when he arrives… we’ll all be off to Angland. At best.
Gloktatookholdofhiscaneandgottohisfeet.“Iliketothinkofmyselfasan
artist,butartistrytakestimeandwehavewastedhalftheeveningsearchingfor
youineverybrothelinthecity.Thankfully,PracticalFrosthasakeennoseand
anexcellentsenseofdirection.Hecansniffoutaratinashithouse.”
“A rat in a shithouse,” echoed Severard, eyes glittering bright in the orange
glowfromthebrazier.
“Weareonatightschedulesoletmebeblunt.Youwillconfesstomewithin
tenminutes.”
Teufelsnortedandfoldedhisarms.“Never.”
“Holdhim.”Frostseizedtheprisonerfrombehindandfoldedhiminavice-
likegrip,pinninghisrightarmtohisside.Severardgrabbedholdofhisleftwrist
andspreadhisfingersoutonthescarredtable-top.Gloktacurledhisfistround
thesmoothgripofthecleaver,thebladescrapingagainstthewoodashepulled
it slowly towards him. He stared down at Teufel’s hand. What beautiful
fingernails he has. How long and glossy. You cannot work down a mine with
nailslikethat.Gloktaraisedthecleaverhigh.
“Wait!”screamedtheprisoner.
Bang!Theheavybladebitdeepintothetabletop,neatlyparingoffTeufel’s
middlefingernail.Hewasbreathingfastnow,andtherewasasheenofsweaton
hisforehead.Nowwe’llseewhatkindofamanyoureallyare.
“Ithinkyoucanseewherethisisgoing,”saidGlokta.“Youknow,theydidit
toacorporalwho was captured with me, onecutaday.Hewas a tough man,
very tough. They made it past his elbow before he died.” Glokta lifted the
cleaveragain.“Confess.”
“Youcouldn’t…”
Bang! The cleaver took off the very tip of Teufel’s middle finger. Blood
bubbledoutontothetabletop.Severard’seyesweresmilinginthelamplight.
Teufel’sjawdropped.Butthepainwillbeawhilecoming.“Confess!”bellowed
Glokta.
Bang!ThecleavertookoffthetopofTeufel’sringfinger,andalittlediscout
of his middle finger which rolled a short way and dropped off onto the floor.
Frost’sfacewascarvedfrommarble.“Confess!”
Bang! The tip of Teufel’s index finger jumped in the air. His middle finger
wasdowntothefirstjoint.Gloktapaused,wipingthesweatfromhisforehead
on the back of his hand. His leg was throbbing with the exertion. Blood was
drippingontothetileswithasteadytap,tap,tap.Teufelwasstaringwide-eyedat
hisshortenedfingers.
Severardshookhishead.“That’sexcellentwork,Inquisitor.”Heflickedone
ofthediscsoffleshacrossthetable.“Theprecision…I’minawe.”
“Aaaargh!”screamedtheMasteroftheMints.Nowitdawnsonhim.Glokta
raisedthecleaveronceagain.
“Iwillconfess!”shriekedTeufel,“Iwillconfess!”
“Excellent,”saidGloktabrightly.
“Excellent,”saidSeverard.
“Etherer,”saidPracticalFrost.
TheWideandBarrenNorth
The Magi are an ancient and mysterious order, learned in the secrets of the
world,practisedinthewaysofmagic,wiseandpowerfulbeyondthedreamsof
men.Thatwastherumour.Suchaoneshouldhavewaysoffindingaman,even
amanaloneinthewideandbarrenNorth.Ifthatwasso,thenhewastakinghis
timeaboutit.
Logen scratched at his tangled beard and wondered what was keeping the
greatone.Perhapshewaslost.Heaskedhimselfagainifheshouldhavestayed
intheforests,wherefoodatleastwasplentiful.Buttothesouththespiritshad
said,andifyouwentsouthfromthehillsyoucametothesewitheredmoors.So
herehehadwaitedinthebriarsandthemud,inbadweather,andmostlygone
hungry.
His boots were worn out anyway, so he had set his miserable camp not far
from the road, the better to see this wizard coming. Since the wars, the North
was full of dangerous scum—deserting warriors turned bandit, peasants fled
from their burned-out land, leaderless and desperate men with nothing left to
lose,andsoon.Logenwasn’tworried,though.Noonehadareasontocometo
thisarseholeoftheworld.NoonebuthimandtheMagus.
Sohesatandwaited,lookedforfood,didn’t find any, sat and waited some
more.Atthistimeofyearthemoorswereoftensoakedbysuddendownpours,
but he would have smoky, thorny little fires by night if he could, to keep his
flagging spirits up and attract any passing wizards. It had been raining this
evening,butithadstoppedawhilebeforeanditwasdryenoughforafire.Now
hehadhispotoverit,cookingastewwiththelastofthemeathehadbrought
withhimfromtheforest.Hewouldhavetomoveoninthemorning,andlook
forfood.TheMaguscouldcatchupwithhimlater,ifhestillcared.
Hewasstirringhismeagremeal,andwonderingwhethertogobacknorthor
moveonsouthtomorrow,whenheheardthesoundofhoovesontheroad.One
horse,movingslowly.Hesatbackonhiscoatandwaited.Therewasaneigh,the
jingleofaharness.Aridercameovertherise.Withthewaterysunlowonthe
horizonbehind,Logencouldn’tseehimclearly,buthesatstiffandawkwardin
his saddle, like a man not used to the road. He urged his horse gently in the
directionofthefireandreinedinafewyardsaway.
“Goodevening,”hesaid.
HewasnotintheleastwhatLogenhadbeenexpecting.Agaunt,pale,sickly-
looking young man with dark rings round his eyes, long hair plastered to his
head by the drizzle and a nervous smile. He seemed more wet than wise, and
certainly didn’t look powerful beyond the dreams of men. He looked mostly
hungry,cold,andill.HelookedsomethinglikeLogenfelt,infact.
“Shouldn’tyouhaveastaff?”
Theyoung manlookedsurprised. “Idon’t…that istosay… er…I’mnot a
Magus.”Hetrailedoffandlickedhislipsnervously.
“ThespiritstoldmetoexpectaMagus,butthey’reoftenwrong.”
“Oh… well, I’m an apprentice. But my Master, the great Bayaz,” and he
bowed his head reverently, “is none other than the First of the Magi, great in
High Art and learned in deep wisdom. He sent me to find you,” he looked
suddenlydoubtful,“andbringyou…youareLogenNinefingers?”
Logenhelduphislefthandandlookedatthepaleyoungmanthroughthegap
wherehismiddlefingerusedtobe.“Ohgood.”Theapprenticebreathedasigh
ofrelief,thensuddenlystoppedhimself.“Oh,thatistosay…er…sorryabout
thefinger.”
Logenlaughed.Itwasthefirsttimesincehedraggedhimselfoutoftheriver.
Itwasn’t very funny buthelaughedloud. It feltgood.Theyoung man smiled
andslippedpainfullyfromthesaddle.“IamMalacusQuai.”
“Malacuswhat?”
“Quai,”hesaid,makingforthefire.
“Whatkindofanameisthat?”
“IamfromtheOldEmpire.”
Logenhadneverheardofanysuchplace.“Anempire,eh?”
“Well, it was, once. The mightiest nation in the Circle of the World.” The
youngmansquatteddownstifflybythefire.“Butthegloryofthepastislong
faded.It’snotmuchmorethanahugebattlefieldnow.”Logennodded.Heknew
well enough what one of those looked like. “It’s far away. In the west of the
world.”Theapprenticewavedhishandvaguely.
Logenlaughedagain.“That’seast.”
Quaismiledsadly.“Iamaseer,thoughnot,itseems,averygoodone.Master
Bayazsentmetofindyou,butthestarshavenotbeenauspiciousandIbecame
lostinthebadweather.”Hepushedhishairoutofhiseyesandspreadhishands.
“Ihadapackhorse,withfoodandsupplies,andanotherhorseforyou,butIlost
theminastorm.IfearIamnooutdoorsman.”
“Seemsnot.”
Quai took a flask from his pocket and leaned across with it. Logen took it
fromhim, openedit,took aswig.The hotliquorran downhisthroat, warmed
him to the roots of his hair. “Well, Malacus Quai, you lost your food but you
keptholdofwhatreallymattered.Ittakesanefforttomakemesmilethesedays.
You’rerightwelcomeatmyfire.”
“Thank you.” The apprentice paused and held his palms out to the meagre
flames. “I haven’t eaten for two days.” He shook his head, hair flapping back
andforth.“Ithasbeen…adifficulttime.”Helickedhislipsandlookedatthe
pot.
Logenpassedhimthespoon.MalacusQuaistaredatitwithbigroundeyes.
“Haveyoueaten?”
Logennodded. He hadn’t,but thewretchedapprentice looked famishedand
there was barely enough for one. He took another swig from the flask. That
woulddoforhim,fornow.Quaiattackedthestewwithrelish.Whenitwasdone
hescrapedthepotout,lickedthespoon,thenlickedtheedgeofthepotforgood
measure. He sat back against a big rock. “I am forever in your debt, Logen
Ninefingers,you’vesavedmylife.Ihardlydaredhopeyou’dbeso graciousa
host.”
“You’renotquitewhatIexpectedeither,beinghonest.”Logenpulledatthe
flaskagain,andlickedhislips.“WhoisthisBayaz?”
“TheFirstoftheMagi,greatinHighArtandlearnedindeepwisdom.Ifear
hewillbemostseriouslydispleasedwithme.”
“He’stobefeared,then?”
“Well,”repliedtheapprenticeweakly,“hedoeshaveabitofatemper.”
Logen took another swallow. The warmth was spreading through his body
now,thefirsttimehehadfeltwarminweeks.Therewasapause.“Whatdoeshe
wantfromme,Quai?”
There was no reply. The soft sound of snoring came from across the fire.
Logensmiledand,wrappinghimselfinhiscoat,laydowntosleepaswell.
Theapprenticewokewithasuddenfitofcoughing.Itwasearlymorningand
thedingyworldwasthickwithmist.Itwasprobablybetterthatway.Therewas
nothingto see butmilesof mud,rock,and miserablebrowngorse. Everything
was coated in cold dew, but Logen had managed to get a sad tongue of fire
going.Quai’shair wasplasteredto hispallid face.Herolled ontohisside and
coughedphlegmontotheground.
“Aaargh,”hecroaked.Hecoughedandspatagain.
Logensecuredthelastofhismeagregearontheunhappyhorse.“Morning,”
hesaid,lookingupatthewhitesky,“thoughnotagoodone.”
“Iwilldie.Iwilldie,andthenIwillnothavetomove.”
“We’vegotnofood,soifwestayhereyouwilldie.ThenIcaneatyouandgo
backoverthemountains.”
Theapprenticesmiledweakly.“Whatdowedo?”
Whatindeed?“WheredowefindthisBayaz?”
“AttheGreatNorthernLibrary.”
Logenhadneverheardofit,butthenhe’dneverbeenthatinterestedinbooks.
“Whichiswhere?”
“It’ssouthofhere,aboutfourdays’ride,besideagreatlake.”
“Doyouknowtheway?”
Theapprenticetotteredtohisfeetandstood,swayingslightly,breathingfast
andshallow.Hewasghostlypaleandhisfacehadasheenofsweat.“Ithinkso,”
hemuttered,buthehardlylookedcertain.
Neither Quai nor his horse would make four days without food, even
providingtheydidn’tgetlost.Foodhadtobethefirstthing.Tofollowtheroad
throughthewoodstothesouthwasthebestoption,despitethegreaterrisk.They
mightgetkilledbybandits,buttheforagewouldbebetter,andthehungerwould
likelykillthemotherwise.
“You’dbetterride,”saidLogen.
“Ilostthehorses,Ishouldbetheonetowalk.”
Logen put his hand on Quai’s forehead. It was hot and clammy. “You’ve a
fever.You’dbetterride.”
Theapprenticedidn’ttrytoargue.HelookeddownatLogen’sraggedboots.
“Canyoutakemyboots?”
Logen shook his head. “Too small.” He knelt down over the smouldering
remainsofthefireandpursedhislips.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Fireshavespirits.Iwillkeepthisoneundermytongue,andwecanuseitto
lightanotherfirelater.”Quailookedtooilltobesurprised.Logensuckedupthe
spirit,coughedonthesmoke,shudderedatthebittertaste.“Youreadytoleave?”
Theapprenticeraisedhisarmsinahopelessgesture.“Iampacked.”
MalacusQuailovedtotalk.Hetalkedastheymadetheirwaysouthacrossthe
moors,asthesunclimbedintothegrimyskies,astheyenteredthewoodstoward
eveningtime.Hisillnessdidnothingtostophischatter,butLogendidn’tmind.
Itwasalongtimesinceanyonehadtalkedtohim,andithelpedtotakehismind
offhisfeet.Hewasstarvingandtired,butitwashisfeetthatweretheproblem.
Hisbootsweretattersofoldleather,histoescutandbattered,hiscalfwasstill
burningfromtheShanka’steeth.Everystepwasanordeal.Oncetheyhadcalled
himthemostfearedmanintheNorth.Nowhewasafraidofthesmalleststicks
andstonesintheroad.Therewasajokeintheresomewhere.Hewincedashis
foothitapebble.
“…soIspentsevenyearsstudyingwithMasterZacharus.Heisgreatamong
the Magi, the fifth of Juvens’ twelve apprentices, a great man.” Everything
connectedwiththeMagiseemedtobegreatinQuai’seyes.“HefeltIwasready
tocometotheGreatNorthernLibraryandstudywithMasterBayaz,toearnmy
staff. But things have not been easy for me here. Master Bayaz is most
demandingand…”
The horse stopped and snorted, shied and took a hesitant step back. Logen
sniffedtheairandfrowned.Thereweremennearby,andbadlywashedones.He
shouldhavenoticeditsoonerbuthisattentionhadbeenonhisfeet.Quailooked
downathim.“Whatisit?”
As if in answer a man stepped out from behind a tree perhaps ten strides
ahead,anotheralittlefurtherdowntheroad.Theywerescum,withoutadoubt.
Dirty,bearded,dressedinraggedbitsofmismatchedfurandleather.Not,onthe
whole,unlikeLogen.Theskinnyoneonthelefthadaspearwithabarbedhead.
Thebigoneontherighthadaheavyswordspeckledwithrust,andanolddented
helmetwithaspikeontop.Theymovedforward,grinning.Therewasasound
behindandLogenlookedoverhisshoulder,hisheartsinking.Athirdman,with
a big boil on his face, was making his way cautiously down the road toward
them,aheavywoodaxeinhishands.
Quaileaneddownfromhissaddle,eyeswidewithfear.“Aretheybandits?”
“You’rethefuckingseer,”hissedLogenthroughgrittedteeth.
Theystoppedastrideortwoinfront.Theonewiththehelmetseemedtobein
charge.“Nicehorse,”hegrowled.“Wouldyoulendittous?”Theonewiththe
speargrinnedashetookholdofthebridle.
Thingshadtakenaturnfortheworsealright.Amomentagothathadhardly
seemedpossible,butfatehadfoundaway.LogendoubtedthatQuaiwouldbe
muchuseinafight.Thatlefthimaloneagainstthreeormore,andwithonlya
knife.IfhedidnothinghimandMalacuswouldenduprobbed,andmorethan
likelykilled.Youhavetoberealisticaboutthesethings.
Helookedthethreebanditsoveragain.Theydidn’texpectafight,notfrom
twounarmedmen—thespearwassidewayson,theswordpointedattheground.
Hedidn’tknowabouttheaxe,sohe’dhavetotrusttoluckwiththatone.It’sa
sorryfactthatthemanwhostrikesfirstusuallystrikeslast,soLogenturnedto
theonewiththehelmetandspatthespiritinhisface.
Itignitedintheairandpouncedonhimhungrily.Hisheadburstintospitting
flames,theswordclatteredtotheground.Heclaweddesperatelyathisfaceand
hisarmscaughtfireaswell.Hereeledscreamingaway.
Quai’s horse startled at the flames and reared up, snorting. The skinny man
stumbled back with a gasp and Logen leaped at him, grabbed the shaft of the
spear with one hand and butted him in the face. His nose crunched against
Logen’s forehead and he staggered away with blood streaming down his chin.
Logenjerkedhimbackwiththespear,swunghisrightarmroundinawidearc
andpunchedhimintheneck.HewentdownwithagurgleandLogentorethe
spearfromhishands.
Hefeltmovementbehindhimanddroppedtotheground,rollingawaytohis
left.Theaxewhistledthroughtheairabovehisheadandcutalongslashinthe
horse’sside,spatteringdropsofbloodacrossthegroundandrippingthebuckle
onthesaddlegirthopen.Boil-facetotteredaway,spinningaroundafterhisaxe.
Logen sprang at him but his ankle twisted on a stone and he tottered like a
drunkard,yelpingatthepain.Anarrowhummedpasthisfacefromsomewhere
inthetreesbehindandwaslostinthebushesontheothersideoftheroad.The
horsesnortedandkicked,eyesrollingmadly,thentookoffdowntheroadata
crazy gallop. Malacus Quai wailed as the saddle slid off its back and he was
flungintothebushes.
Therewasnotimetothinkabouthim.Logenchargedattheaxe-manwitha
roar,aimingthespearathisheart.Hebroughthisaxeupintimetonudgethe
pointaway,butnotfarenough.Thespearspittedhimthroughtheshoulder,spun
himround.Therewasasharpcrackastheshaftsnapped,Logenlosthisbalance
and pitched forward, bearing Boil-face down into the road. The spear-point
stickingoutofhisbackcutadeepgashintoLogen’sscalpashefellontopof
him.Logenseizedholdoftheaxe-man’smattedhairwithbothhands,pulledhis
headbackandmashedhisfaceintoarock.
Helurchedtohisfeet,headspinning,wipingbloodoutofhiseyesjustintime
toseeanarrowzipoutofthetreesandthudintoatrunkastrideortwoaway.
Logen hurtled at the archer. He saw him now, a boy no more than fourteen,
reachingforanotherarrow.Logenpulledouthisknife.Theboywasnockingthe
arrowtohisbow,buthiseyeswerewidewithpanic.Hefumbledthestringand
drovethearrowthroughhishand,lookinggreatlysurprised.
Logenwasonhim.Theboyswungthebowathimbutheduckedbelowitand
jumpedforward,drivingtheknifeupwithbothhands.Thebladecaughttheboy
under the chin and lifted him into the air, then snapped off in his neck. He
droppedontopofLogen,thejaggedshardoftheknifecuttingalonggashinhis
arm.Bloodsplatteredeverywhere,fromthecutonLogen’shead,fromthecuton
Logen’sarm,fromthegapingwoundintheboy’sthroat.
Heshovedthecorpseaway,staggeredagainstatreeandgaspedforbreath.His
heartwaspounding,thebloodroaringinhisears, hisstomachturningover.“I
amstillalive,”hewhispered,“Iamstillalive.”Thecutsonhisheadandhisarm
were starting to throb. Two more scars. It could have been a lot worse. He
scrapedthebloodfromhiseyesandlimpedbacktotheroad.
Malacus Quai was standing, staring ashen-faced at the three corpses. Logen
tookhimbytheshoulders,lookedhimupanddown.“Youhurt?”
Quai only stared at the bodies. “Are they dead?” The corpse of the big one
withthehelmetwas still smoking, making a disgustingly appetising smell.He
hadagoodpairofbootson,Logennoticed,alotbetterthanhisown.Theone
withtheboilhadhisneckturnedtoofararoundtobealive,thatandhehadthe
brokenspearthrough him. Logen rolledtheskinnyone over with his foot.He
stillhadalookofsurpriseonhisbloodyface,eyesstaringupatthesky,mouth
open.
“Must’vecrushedhiswindpipe,”mutteredLogen.Hishandswerecoveredin
blood.Hegrabbedonewiththeothertostopthemfromtrembling.
“Whatabouttheoneinthetrees?”
Logennodded.“Whathappenedtothehorse?”
“Gone,”mutteredQuaihopelessly.“Whatdowedo?”
“Weseeifthey’vegotanyfood.”Logenpointedtothesmokingcorpse.“And
youhelpmegethisbootsoff.”
FencingPractice
“Presshim,Jezal,presshim!Don’tbeshy!”
Jezal was only too willing to oblige. He sprang forward, lunging with his
right.Westwasalreadyoffbalanceandhestumbledback,alloutofform,only
justmanagingtoparrywithhisshortsteel.Theywereusinghalf-edgedblades
today,toaddalittledangertotheproceedings.Youcouldn’treallystabaman
with one, but you could give him a painful scratch or two, if you tried hard
enough.JezalintendedtogivetheMajorascratchforyesterday’shumiliation.
“That’sit,givehimhell!Jab,jab,Captain!Jab,jab!”
Westmadeaclumsycut,butJezalsawitcomingandswattedthesteelaside,
stillpressingforward,jabbingforallhewasworth.Heslashedwiththeleft,and
again.Westblockeddesperately,staggeredbackagainstthewall.Jezalhadhim
atlast.Hecackledwithgleeashelungedforwardagainwiththelongsteel,but
his opponent had come suddenly and surprisingly alive. West slipped away,
shovedthelungeasidewithdisappointingfirmness.Jezalstumbledforward,off
balance,gaveashockedgaspasthepointofhisswordfoundagapbetweentwo
stonesandhissteelwaswrenchedoutofhisnumbhand,lodgedtherewobbling
inthewall.
Westdartedforward,duckedinsideJezal’sremainingbladeandslammedinto
himwithhisshoulder.“Ooof,”saidJezalashestaggeredbackandcrashedtothe
floor, fumbling his short steel. It skittered across the stones and Lord Marshal
Varuz caught it smartly under his foot. The blunted point of West’s sword
hoveredoverJezal’sthroat.
“Damnit!”hecursed,asthegrinningMajorofferedhimhishand.
“Yes,” murmured Varuz with a deep sigh, “damn it indeed. An even more
detestableperformancethanyesterday’s,ifthat’spossible!Youlet MajorWest
makeafoolofyouagain!”JezalslappedWest’shandawaywithascowlandgot
tohisfeet.“Heneveroncelostcontrolofthatbout!Youallowedyourselftobe
drawnin,andthendisarmed!Disarmed!Mygrandsonwouldnothavemadethat
mistake,and he is eightyearsold!”Varuz whacked at thefloorwith his stick.
“Explaintomeplease,CaptainLuthar,howyouwillwinafencingmatchfroma
proneposition,andwithoutyoursteels?”
Jezalsulkedandrubbedthebackofhishead.
“No?In future, ifyoufalloffa cliffcarryingyoursteels, I wanttosee you
smashedtobitsatthebottom,grippingthemtightlyinyourdeadfingers,doyou
hearme?”
“Yes,MarshalVaruz,”mumbledasullenJezal,wishingtheoldbastardwould
takeatumbleoffacliffhimself.OrperhapstheTowerofChains.Thatwouldbe
adequate.MaybeMajorWestcouldjoinhim.
“Over-confidenceisacursetotheswordsman!Youmusttreateveryopponent
asthoughhewillbeyourlast.Asforyourfootwork,”andVaruzcurledhislip
withdisgust,“fineandfancycomingforward,butputyouonthebackfootand
youquitewitheraway.TheMajoronlyhadtotapyouandyoufelldownlikea
faintingschoolgirl.”
West grinned across at him. He was loving this. Absolutely loving it, damn
him.
“TheysayBremerdanGorsthasabackleglikeapillarofsteel.Apillarof
steeltheysay!Itwouldbeeasiertoknock downtheHouse oftheMakerthan
him.”TheLordMarshalpointedoverattheoutlineofthehugetower,looming
upoverthebuildingsofthecourtyard.“TheHouseoftheMaker!”heshoutedin
disgust.
Jezalsniffedandkickedatthefloorwithhisboot.Forthehundredthtimehe
entertainedthenotionofgivingitupandneverholdingasteelagain.Butwhat
wouldpeoplesay?Hisfatherwasabsurdlyproudofhim,alwaysboastingabout
hisskilltoanyonewhowouldlisten.Hehadhisheartsetonseeinghissonfight
intheSquareofMarshalsbeforeascreamingcrowd.IfJezalthrewitovernow
his father would be mortified, and he could say goodbye to his commission,
goodbye to his allowance, goodbye to his ambitions. No doubt his brothers
wouldlovethat.
“Balanceisthekey,”Varuzwasspouting.“Yourstrengthrisesupthroughthe
legs! From now on we will add an hour on the beam to your training. Every
day.”Jezalwinced.“So:arun,exerciseswiththeheavybar,forms,anhourof
sparring, forms again, an hour on the beam.” The Lord Marshal nodded with
satisfaction.“Thatwillsuffice,fornow.Iwillseeyouatsixo’clocktomorrow
morning,icecoldsober.”Varuzfrowned.“Ice.Cold.Sober.”
“I can’t do this forever, you know,” said Jezal as he hobbled stiffly back
towards his quarters. “How much of this horrible shit should a man have to
take?”
West grinned. “This is nothing. I’ve never seen the old bastard so soft on
anyone.Hemustreallylikeyou.Hewasn’thalfsofriendlywithme.”
Jezalwasn’tsurehebelievedit.“Worsethanthis?”
“Ididn’thavethegroundingthatyou’vehad.Hemademeholdtheheavybar
over my head all afternoon until it fell on me.” The Major winced slightly, as
thougheventhememorywaspainful.“HemademerunupanddowntheTower
ofChainsinfullarmour.Hehadmesparringfourhoursaday,everyday.”
“Howdidyouputupwithit?”
“Ididn’thaveachoice.I’mnotanobleman.Fencingwastheonlywayforme
togetnoticed.Butitpaidoffintheend.Howmanycommonersdoyouknow
withacommissionintheKing’sOwn?”
Jezalshrugged. “Cometothink ofit,very few.” Asanobleman himself,he
didn’tthinkthereshouldbeany.
“But you’re from a good family, and a Captain already. If you can win the
Contestthere’sno telling howfaryou could go.Hoff—the Lord Chamberlain,
Marovia—the High Justice, Varuz himself for that matter, they were all
championsin theirday.Championswith theright blood alwaysgo on togreat
things.”
Jezalsnorted.“LikeyourfriendSanddanGlokta?”
Thenamedroppedbetweenthemlikeastone.“Well…almostalways.”
“MajorWest!”camearoughvoicefrombehind.
A thickset sergeant with a scar down his cheek was hurrying over to them.
“SergeantForest,howareyou?”askedWest,clappingthesoldierwarmlyonthe
back. He had a touch with peasants, but then Jezal had to keep reminding
himselfthatWestwaslittlebetterthanapeasanthimself.Hemightbeeducated,
andanofficer,andsoforth,buthestillhadmoreincommonwiththesergeant
thanhedidwithJezal,onceyouthoughtaboutit.
Thesergeantbeamed.“Verywell,thankyou,sir.”Henoddedrespectfullyto
Jezal.“Morning,Captain.”
Jezalfavouredhimwithatersenodandturnedawaytolookuptheavenue.
Hecouldthinkofnopossiblereasonwhyanofficerwouldwanttobefamiliar
withthecommonsoldiers.Furthermore,hewasscarredandugly.Jezalhadno
usewhateverforuglypeople.
“WhatcanIdoforyou?”Westwasasking.
“MarshalBurrwishestoseeyou,sir,foranurgentbriefing.Allseniorofficers
areorderedtoattend.”
West’sfaceclouded.“I’llbethereassoonasIcan.”Thesergeantsalutedand
strodeoff.
“What’s all that about?” asked Jezal carelessly, watching some clerk chase
aroundafterapaperhehaddropped.
“Angland. This King of the Northmen, Bethod.” West said the name with a
scowl,asthoughitleftabittertaste.“Theysayhe’sdefeatedallhisenemiesin
theNorth,andnowhe’sspoilingforafightwithTheUnion.”
“Well,ifit’safighthewants,”saidJezalairily.Warswereafinething,inhis
opinion,anexcellentopportunityforgloryandadvancement.Thepaperfluttered
past his boot on the light breeze, closely followed by the puffing clerk. Jezal
grinnedathimashehurriedpast,bentalmostdoubleinhisclumsyeffortstotry
andgrabit.
TheMajorsnatchedupthegrubbydocumentandhandeditover.“Thankyou,
sir,” said the clerk, his sweaty face quite pitiful with gratitude, “thank you so
much!”
“Thinknothingofit,”murmuredWest,andtheclerkgaveasycophanticlittle
bowandhurriedaway.Jezalwasdisappointed.Hehadbeenratherenjoyingthe
chase.“Therecouldbewar,butthat’stheleastofmytroublesrightnow.”West
breathedaheavysigh.“MysisterisinAdua.”
“Ididn’tknowyouhadasister.”
“WellIdo,andshe’shere.”
“So?” Jezal had little enthusiasm for hearing about the Major’s sister. West
mighthavepulledhimselfup,buttherestofhisfamilyweredistinctlybeneath
Jezal’s notice. He was interestedinmeeting poor, common girls he couldtake
advantageof,andrich,nobleoneshemightthinkaboutmarrying.Anythingin
betweenwasofnoimportance.
“Well,mysistercanbecharmingbutsheisalsoalittle…unconventional.She
canbesomethingofahandfulinthewrongmood.Truthbetold,I’dpreferto
takecareofapackofNorthmenthanher.”
“Comenow, West,”said Jezal absently,hardlytaking anynoticeof whathe
wassaying,“I’msureshecan’tbethatdifficult.”
TheMajorbrightened.“Well,I’mrelievedtohearyousaythat.She’salways
beenkeentoseetheAgriontforherself,andI’vebeensayingforyearsthatI’d
giveheratourifsheevercamehere.We’darrangeditfortodayinfact.”Jezal
hadasinkingfeeling.“Now,withthismeeting—”
“ButIhavesolittletimethesedays!”whingedJezal.
“IpromiseI’llmakeituptoyou.We’llmeetyouatmyquartersinanhour.”
“Holdon…”ButWestwasalreadystridingaway.
Don’tletherbetoougly,Jezalwasthinkingasheslowlyapproachedthedoor
toMajorWest’squartersandraisedhisunwillingfisttoknock.Justdon’tlether
betoougly. And not too stupideither. Anythingbutan afternoon wasted ona
stupidgirl.Hishandwashalfwaytothedoorwhenhebecameawareofraised
voicesontheotherside.Hestoodguiltilyinthecorridor,hiseardrawingcloser
andclosertothewood,hopingtohearsomethingcomplimentaryabouthimself.
“…andwhataboutyourmaid?”cameMajorWest’smuffledvoice,sounding
greatlyannoyed.
“Ihadtoleaveheratthehouse,therewasalottodo.Nobody’sbeentherein
months.”West’ssister.Jezal’sheartsank.Adeepvoice,shesoundedlikeafat
one.Jezalcouldn’taffordtobeseenwalkingabouttheAgriontwithafatgirlon
hisarm.Itcouldruinhisreputation.
“Butyoucan’tjustwanderaboutthecityonyourown!”
“Igotherealright,didn’tI?You’reforgettingwhoweare,Collem.Icanmake
do without a servant. To most of the people here I’m no better than a servant
anyway.Besides,I’llhaveyourfriendCaptainLuthartolookafterme.”
“That’sevenworse,asyoudamnwellknow!”
“Well I wasn’tto knowthatyou’dbe busy. I would’ve thought you’dmake
the time to see your own sister.” She didn’t sound an idiot, which was
something,butfatandnowpeevishtoo.“Aren’tIsafewithyourfriend?”
“He’sagoodenoughsort,butishesafewithyou?”Jezalwasn’tsurewhatthe
Majormeantbythatlittlecomment.“AndwalkingabouttheAgriontalone,and
withamanyouhardlyknow?Don’tplaythefool,Iknowyoubetterthanthat!
Whatwillpeoplethink?”
“Shitonwhattheythink.”Jezaljerkedawayfromthedoor.Hewasn’tusedto
hearingladiesusethatsortoflanguage.Fat,peevishandcoarse,damnit.This
might be even worse than he’d feared. He looked up the corridor, considering
makingarunforit,alreadyworkingouthisexcuse.Cursehisbadluck,though,
someonewascomingup thestairs now.Hecouldn’tleavewithoutbeingseen.
He would just have to knock and get it over with. He gritted his teeth and
poundedresentfullyatthedoor.
Thevoicesstoppedsuddenly,andJezalputonanunconvincingfriendlygrin.
Letthetorturebegin.Thedoorswungopen.
For some reason, he had been expecting a kind of shorter, fatter version of
MajorWest,inadress.Hehadbeengreatlymistaken.Shewasperhapsslightly
fulleroffigurethanwasstrictlyfashionable,sinceskinnygirlswerealltherage,
butyoucouldn’tcallherfat,notfatatall.Shehaddarkhair,darkskin,alittle
darkerthanwouldgenerallybethoughtideal.Heknewthataladyshouldremain
out of the sun whenever possible, but looking at her, he really couldn’t
remember why. Her eyes were very dark, almost black, and blue eyes were
turningtheheadsthisseason,buthersshoneinthedimlightofthedoorwayina
ratherbewitchingmanner.
Shesmiledathim.Astrangesortofsmile,higherononesidethantheother.It
gavehimaslightlyuneasyfeeling,asthoughsheknewsomethingfunnythathe
didn’t. Still, excellent teeth, all white and shiny. Jezal’s anger was swiftly
vanishing.Thelongerhelookedatherthemoreherlooksgrewonhim,andthe
emptierhisheadbecameofcogentthought.
“Hello,”shesaid.
Hismouthopenedslightly,asifbyforceofhabit,butnothingcameout.His
mindwasablankpage.
“AndyoumustbeCaptainLuthar?”
“Er…”
“I’m Collem’s sister, Ardee,” she slapped her forehead. “I’m such an idiot
though,Collemwillhavetoldyouallaboutme.Iknowthetwoofyouaregreat
friends.”
Jezal glanced awkwardly at the Major, who was frowning back at him and
looking somewhat put out. It would hardly do to say he had been entirely
unawareofherexistenceuntilthatmorning.Hestruggledtoframeevenamildly
amusingreply,butnothingcametomind.
Ardeetookholdofhimbytheelbowanddrewhimintotheroom,talkingall
the while. “I know you’re a great fencer, but I’ve been told your wit is even
sharperthanyoursword.Somuchsoinfact,thatyouonlyuseyourswordupon
your friends, as your wit is far too deadly.” She looked at him expectantly.
Silence.
“Well,”hemumbled,“Idofenceabit.”Pathetic.Utterlyawful.
“Isthistherightman,ordoIhavethegardenerhere?”Shelookedhimover
with a strange expression, hard to read. Perhaps it was the same sort of look
Jezalwouldhavewhileexaminingahorsehewasthinkingofbuying:cautious,
searching, intent, and ever so slightly disdainful. “Even the gardeners have
splendiduniforms,itseems.”
Jezalwasalmostsurethathadbeensomekindofinsult,buthewastoobusy
tryingtothinkofsomethingwittytopayittoomuchmind.Heknewhewould
havetospeaknoworspendtheentiredayinembarrassedsilence,soheopened
his mouth and trusted to luck. “I’m sorry if I seem dumbfounded, but Major
West is such an unattractive man. How could I have expected so beautiful a
sister?”
West snorted with laughter. His sister raised an eyebrow, and counted the
points off on her fingers. “Mildly offensive to my brother, which is good.
Somewhatamusing,whichisalsogood.Honest,whichisrefreshing,andwildly
complimentary to me, which, of course, is excellent. A little late, but on the
wholeworthwaitingfor.”ShelookedJezalintheeye.“Theafternoonmightnot
beatotalloss.”
Jezalwasn’tsurehelikedthatlastcomment,andhewasn’tsurehelikedthe
wayshelookedathim,buthewasenjoyinglookingather,sohewaspreparedto
forgive a lot. The women of his acquaintance rarely said anything clever,
especiallythefine-lookingones.Hesupposedtheyweretrainedtosmileandnod
andlistenwhilethemendidthetalking.Onthewholeheagreedwiththatway
ofdoingthings,buttheclevernesssatwellonWest’ssister,andshehadmore
thancaughthiscuriosity.Fatandpeevishwereoffthemenu,ofthattherecould
beno doubt.As forcoarse, well,handsome peopleare nevercoarse, arethey?
Just…unconventional.Hewasbeginningtothinkthattheafternoon,asshehad
said,mightnotbeatotalloss.
Westmadeforthedoor.“ItseemsImustleaveyoutwotomakefoolsofone
another.LordMarshalBurrisexpectingme.Don’tdoanythingIwouldn’t,eh?”
ThecommentseemedtobeaimedatJezal,butWestwaslookingathissister.
“That would seem to allow virtually everything,” she said, catching Jezal’s
eye. He was amazed to feel himself blushing like a little girl, and he coughed
andlookeddownathisshoes.
Westrolledhiseyes.“Mercy,”hesaid,asthedoorclickedshut.
“Wouldyoucareforadrink?”Ardeeasked,alreadypouringwineintoaglass.
Alone with a beautiful young woman. Hardly a new experience, Jezal told
himself,andyetheseemedtobelackinghisusualconfidence.
“Yes,thankyou,mostkind.”Yes,adrink,adrink,justthethingtosteadythe
nerves. She held the glass out to him and poured another for herself. He
wonderedifayoungladyshouldbedrinkingatthistimeofday,butitseemed
pointlesstosayanything.Shewasn’thissister,afterall.
“Tellme,Captain,howdoyouknowmybrother?”
“Well, he’s my commanding officer, and we fence together.” His brain was
beginningtofunctionagain.“Butthen…youknowthatalready.”
She grinned at him. “Of course, but my governess always maintained that
youngmenshouldbeallowedtheirshareoftheconversation.”
Jezal gave an ungainly cough as he was swallowing and spilled some wine
downhisjacket.“Ohdear,”hesaid.
“Here, take this a moment.” She gave him her glass and he took it without
thinking,butthenfoundhimselfwithoutafreehand.Whenshestarteddabbing
athischestwithawhitehandkerchiefhecouldhardlyobject,thoughitdidseem
ratherforward.Beinghonest,hemighthaveobjectedifshewasn’tsodamnfine-
looking.Hewonderedifsherealisedwhatanexcellentviewshewasgivinghim
downthefrontofherdress,butofcoursenot,howcouldshe?Shewassimply
newhere,unused tocourtlymanners,theartlesswaysofacountry girlandso
forth…niceviewthough,therewasnodenyingthat.
“There, that’s better,” she said, though the dabbing had made no apparent
difference.Nottohisuniformanyway.Shetooktheglassesfromhim,drained
herownquicklywithapractisedflickofherheadandshovedthemonthetable.
“Shallwego?”
“Yes…ofcourse.Oh,”andheofferedherhisarm.
Sheledhimoutintothecorridoranddownthestairs,chattingfreely.Itwasa
flurryofconversationalblowsand,asMarshalVaruzhadpointedoutearlier,his
defence was weak. He parried desperately as they made their way across the
wideSquareofMarshals,buthecouldbarelygetawordin.Itseemedasthough
itwasArdeewhohadbeenlivingthereforyearsandJezalwhowasthebumpkin
fromtheprovinces.
“The Halls Martial are behind there?” She nodded over at the looming wall
that separated the headquarters of the Union’s armies from the rest of the
Agriont.
“Indeedtheyare.ThatiswheretheLordMarshalshavetheiroffices,andso
forth.Andtherearebarracksthere,andarmouries,and,er…”Hetrailedoff.He
couldnotthinkofmuchelsetosay,butArdeecametohisrescue.
“Somybrothermustbesomewhereinthere.He’squitethefamoussoldier,I
suppose.FirstthroughthebreachatUlrioch,andsoon.”
“Well,yes,MajorWestisverywellrespectedhere…”
“Hecanbesuchabore,though,can’the?Hedoessolovetobemysterious
and troubled.” She put on a faint, faraway smile and rubbed her chin
thoughtfully, just as her brother might have done. She had captured the man
perfectly,andJezalhadtolaugh,buthewasstartingtowonderifsheshouldbe
walkingquitesoclosebesidehim,holdinghisarminquitesointimateaway.
Notthatheobjectedofcourse.Quitethereverse,butpeoplewerelooking.
“Ardee—”hesaid.
“SothismustbetheKingsway.”
“Er,yes,Ardee—”
ShewasgazingupatthemagnificentstatueofHarodtheGreat,hissterneyes
fixedonthemiddledistance.“HarodtheGreat?”sheasked.
“Er, yes. In the dark ages, before there was a Union, he fought to bring the
ThreeKingdomstogether.HewasthefirstHighKing.”Youidiot,thoughtJezal,
sheknowsthatalready,everyonedoes.“Ardee,Ithinkyourbrotherwouldnot
—”
“AndthisisBayaz,theFirstoftheMagi?”
“Yes,hewasHarod’smosttrustedadviser.Ardee—”
“IsittruetheystillkeepavacantseatforhimintheClosedCouncil?”
Jezalwastakenaback.“I’dheardthatthere’sanemptychairthere,butIdidn’t
knowthat—”
“Theyalllooksoserious,don’tthey?”
“Er…Isupposethosewereserioustimes,”hesaid,grinninglamely.
AKnightHeraldthundereddowntheavenueonahuge,well-latheredhorse,
the sun glinting on the golden wings of his helmet. Secretaries scattered to let
him pass, and Jezal tried to guide Ardee gently out of the way. To his great
dismaysherefusedtobemoved.Thehorseflashedpastwithinafewinchesof
her,closeenoughforthewindtoflickherhairinJezal’sface.Sheturnedtohim
with a flush of excitement on her cheek, otherwise utterly undaunted by her
brushwithsevereinjury.
“AKnightHerald?”sheasked,takingJezal’sarmonceagainandleadinghim
offdowntheKingsway.
“Yes,”squeakedJezal,desperatelytryingtobringhisvoiceundercontrol,“the
Knights Herald are entrusted with a grave responsibility. They carry messages
from the King to every part of the Union.” His heart had stopped hammering.
“Even across the Circle Sea to Angland, Dagoska, and Westport. They are
entrustedtospeakwiththeKing’svoice,andsoforbiddenfromspeakingexcept
ontheKing’sbusiness.”
“FedordanHadenwasontheboatonourwayover,he’saKnightHerald.We
talked for hours.” Jezal attempted unsuccessfully to contain his surprise. “We
talked about Adua, about the Union, about his family. Your name was
mentioned,actually.”Jezalfailedtolooknonchalantonceagain.“Inconnection
withthecomingContest.”Ardeeleanedevenclosertohim.“Fedorwasofthe
opinionthatBremerdanGorstwillcutyoutopieces.”
Jezalgaveastrangledcough,butheralliedwell.“Unfortunately,thatopinion
seemswidelyheld.”
“Butnotbyyou,Itrust?”
“Er…”
Shestoppedand took him by thehand,staringearnestly into his eyes.“I’m
surethatyou’llgetthebetterofhim,nomatterwhattheysay.Mybrotherspeaks
veryhighlyofyou,andhe’sstingywithhispraise.”
“Er…” mumbled Jezal. His fingers were tingling pleasantly. Her eyes were
biganddark,andhefoundhimselfgreatlyatalossforwords.Shehadthisway
of biting on her lower lip that made his thoughts stray. A fine, full lip. He
wouldn’thavemindedhavingalittlechewonithimself.“Well,thankyou.”He
gaveagormlessgrin.
“So this is the park,” said Ardee, turning away from him to admire the
greenery.“It’sevenmorebeautifulthanI’dimagined.”
“Erm…yes.”
“Howwonderful,tobeattheheartofthings.I’vespentsomuchofmylifeon
theedge.Theremustbemanyimportantdecisionsmadehere,manyimportant
people.”Ardeeallowedherhandtotrailthroughthefrondsofawillowtreeby
theroad.“Collem’sworriedtheremightbewarintheNorth.Hewasworriedfor
mysafety.Ithinkthat’swhyhewantedmetocomehere.Ithinkheworriestoo
much.Whatdoyouthink,CaptainLuthar?”
He had been in blissful ignorance of the political situation until a couple of
hours before, but that would never do as a reply. “Well,” he said, straining to
rememberthename,andthenwithrelief,“thisBethodcoulddowitharaponthe
knuckles.”
“They say he has twenty thousand Northmen under his banner.” She leaned
towardshim. “Barbarians,”she murmured.“Savages,” shewhispered.“I heard
heskinshiscaptivesalive.”
Jezal thought this was hardly suitable conversation for a young lady.
“Ardee…”hebegan.
“ButI’msurewithmenlikeyouandmybrothertoprotectus,wewomenfolk
havenothingtoworryabout.”And sheturnedand madeoffupthepath. Jezal
hadtohurryonceagaintocatchup.
“AndisthattheHouseoftheMaker?”Ardeenoddedtowardsthegrimoutline
ofthehugetower.
“Why,yesitis.”
“Doesnoonegoinside?”
“Noone.Notinmylifetimeanyway.Thebridgeiskeptbehindlockandkey.”
Hefrownedupatthetower.Seemedstrangenow,thatheneverthoughtaboutit.
LivingintheAgriont,itwasalwaysthere.Youjustgotusedtoitsomehow.“The
placeissealed,Ibelieve.”
“Sealed?”Ardeemovedveryclosetohim.Jezalglancedaroundnervouslybut
nobody was looking. “Isn’t it strange that nobody goes in there? Isn’t it a
mystery?”Hecouldalmostfeelherbreathonhisneck,“Imeantosay,whynot
justbreakthedoordown?”
Jezal was finding it horribly difficult to concentrate with her so close. He
wondered for a moment, both frightening and exciting, whether she might be
flirtingwithhim?No,no,ofcoursenot!Just notused tothe citywas all.The
artlesswaysofacountrygirl…butthenshewasveryclose.Ifonlyshewerea
little less attractive or a little less confident. If only she were a little less…
West’ssister.
He coughed and looked off down the path, hoping vainly for a distraction.
There were a few people moving along it, but no one that he recognised,
unless…Ardee’sspellwassuddenlybroken,andJezalfelthisskingocold.A
hunched figure, overdressed on this sunny day, was limping toward them,
leaningheavilyonacane.Hewasbentover and wincing with every step, the
faster-movingtravellersgivinghimawideberth.JezaltriedtosteerArdeeaway
before he saw them, but she resisted gracefully and made a direct line for the
shamblingInquisitor.
Hisheadsnappedupastheyapproachedandhiseyesglintedwithrecognition.
Jezal’sheartsank.Therewasnoavoidinghimnow.
“Why, Captain Luthar,” said Glokta warmly, shuffling a little too close and
shakinghishand,“whatapleasure!I’msurprisedthatVaruzhasletyougoso
earlyintheday.Hemustbemellowinginhisoldage.”
“TheLordMarshalisstillmostdemanding,”snappedJezal.
“I hope my Practicals didn’t inconvenience you the other night.” The
Inquisitorshookhisheadsadly.“Theyhavenomanners.Nomannersatall.But
theyaretheverybestatwhattheydo!Iswear,theKingdoesn’thavetwomore
valuableservants.”
“I suppose we all serve the King in our own way.” There was a little more
hostilityinJezal’svoicethanhehadintended.
IfGloktawasoffendedhedidn’t show it. “Quite so. I don’tbelieve I know
yourfriend.”
“No.Thisis—”
“Actually,we’vemet,”saidArdee,muchtoJezal’ssurprise,givingherhand
totheInquisitor.“ArdeeWest.”
Glokta’s eyebrows rose. “No!” He bent down stiffly tokiss the back of her
hand.Jezalsawhismouthtwistashestraightenedup,butthetoothlessgrinsoon
returned.“CollemWest’ssister!Butyouaresomuchchanged.”
“Forthebetter,Ihope,”shelaughed.Jezalfelthorriblyuncomfortable.
“Why—yesindeed,”saidGlokta.
“And you are changed also, Sand.” Ardee looked suddenly very sad. “We
were all so worried in my family. We hoped and hoped for your safe return.”
Jezal saw a spasm run over Glokta’s face. “Then when we heard you were
hurt…howareyou?”
The Inquisitor glanced at Jezal, his eyes cold as a slow death. Jezal stared
downathisboots,alumpoffearinhisthroat.Hehadnoneedtobescaredof
this cripple, did he? But somehow he wished he was still at fencing practice.
Glokta stared at Ardee, his left eye twitching slightly, and she looked back at
himundaunted,hereyesfullofquietconcern.
“I am well. As well as can be expected.” His expression had turned very
strange.Jezalfeltmoreuncomfortablethanever.“Thankyouforasking.Truly.
Nobodyeverdoes.”
Therewasanawkwardsilence.TheInquisitorstretchedhisnecksidewaysand
therewasa loudclick.“Ah!”hesaid,“that’sgotit.It’sbeenapleasuretosee
you again, both of you, but duty calls.” He treated them to another revolting
smilethenhobbledoff,hisleftfootscrapinginthegravel.
Ardeefrownedathistwistedbackashelimpedslowlyaway.“It’ssosad,”she
saidunderherbreath.
“What?”mumbledJezal.Hewasthinkingaboutthatbigwhitebastardinthe
street, those narrow pink eyes. The prisoner with the bag on his head. We all
servetheKinginourownway.Quiteso.Hegaveaninvoluntaryshiver.
“He and my brother used to be quite close. He came to stay with us one
summer.Myfamilyweresoproudtohavehimitwasembarrassing.Heusedto
fencewithmybrothereveryday,andhealwayswon.Thewayhemoved,itwas
something to see. Sand dan Glokta. He was the brightest star in the sky.” She
flashedherknowinghalf-smileagain.“AndnowIhearyouare.”
“Er…”saidJezal,notsurewhethershewas praisinghimorpoking fun.He
couldnotescapethefeelingthathehadbeenout-fencedtwicethatday,onceby
eachsibling.
Heratherfanciedthatthesisterhadgivenhimtheworsebeating.
TheMorningRitual
Itwasabrightsummersday,andtheparkwasfilledtocapacitywithcolourful
revellers. Colonel Glokta strode manfully toward some meeting of great
importance,peoplebowingandscrapingrespectfullyawaytogivehimroom.He
ignored most, favoured the more important ones with his brilliant smile. The
luckyfewbeamedbackathim,delightedtobenoticed.
“I suppose we all serve the King in our own way,” whined Captain Luthar,
reachingfor his steel, butGloktawasfar too quick forhim.His blade flashed
withlightningspeed,catchingthesneeringidiotthroughtheneck.
BloodsplatteredacrossArdeeWest’sface.Sheclappedherhandsindelight,
lookingatGloktawithshiningeyes.
Luthar seemed surprised to be killed. “Hah. Quite so,” said Glokta with a
smile.TheCaptainpitchedoverontohisface,bloodpouringfromhispunctured
throat. The crowd roared their appreciation and Glokta indulged them with a
deep,gracefulbow.Thecheeringwasredoubled.
“Oh, Colonel, you shouldn’t,” murmured Ardee as Glokta licked the blood
fromhercheek.
“Shouldn’twhat?”he growled, tipping her back in hisarmsandkissing her
fiercely.Thecrowdwereinafrenzy.Shegaspedashebrokeaway,lookingupat
himadoringlywiththosebigdarkeyesofhers,lipsslightlyparted.
“TheArthEctorwanthyou,”shesaidwithacomelysmile.
“What?”Thecrowdhadfallensilent,damnthem,andhisleftsidewasturning
numb.
Ardeetouchedhimtenderlyonthecheek.“TheArthEctor!”sheshouted.
Therewasaheavyknockatthedoor.Glokta’seyesflickedopen.WhereamI?
WhoamI?
Ohno.
Ohyes.Herealisedstraightawayhehadbeensleepingbadly,his bodywas
twistedroundundertheblankets,hisfacepushedintothepillow.Hiswholeleft
sidewasdead.
The beating on the door came heavier than before. “The Arth Ector!” came
Frost’stonguelessbellowfromtheotherside.
PainshotthroughGlokta’sneckashetriedtoraisehisheadfromthepillow.
Ah, there’s nothing like the first spasm of the day to get the mind working.
“Alright!”hecroaked,“givemeaminute,damnit!”
Thealbino’sheavyfootstepsthuddedawaydownthecorridor.Gloktalaystill
for a moment, then cautiously moved his right arm, ever so slowly, breath
raspingwiththeeffort,andtriedtotwisthimselfontohisback.Heclenchedhis
fist as the needling started in his left leg. If only the damn thing would stay
numb.Butthepainwascomingonfastnow.Hewasalsobecomingawareofan
unpleasantsmell.Damnit.I’veshitmyselfagain.
“Barnam!” howled Glokta, then waited, panting, left side throbbing with a
vengeance. Where is the old idiot? “Barnam!” he screamed at the top of his
lungs.
“Areyoualright,sir?”cametheservant’svoicefrombeyondthedoor.
Alright?Alright,youoldfool?JustwhendoyouthinkIwaslastalright?“No,
damnit!I’vesoiledthebed!”
“I’veboiledwaterforabath,sir.Canyougetup?”
OncebeforeFrosthadhadtobreakthedoordown.MaybeIshouldletitstand
open all night, but then how could I sleep? “I think I can manage,” Glokta
hissed,tonguepressedintohisemptygums,armstremblingashehauledhimself
outofthebedandontothechairbesideit.
Hisgrotesque,toeless left leg twitched to itself,stillbeyond his control. He
glared down at it with a burning hatred. Fucking horrible thing. Revolting,
uselesslumpofflesh.Whydidn’ttheyjustcutyouoff?Whydon’tIstill?Buthe
knewwhynot.Withhislegstillonhecouldatleastpretendtobehalfaman.He
punched his withered thigh, then immediately regretted it. Stupid, stupid. The
paincreptuphisback,alittlemoreintensethanbefore,andgrowingwithevery
second. Come now, come now, let’s not fight. He started to rub gently at the
wastedflesh.Wearestuckwitheachother,sowhytormentme?
“Canyougettothedoor,sir?”Gloktawrinkledhisnoseatthesmellthentook
holdofhiscaneandslowly,agonisingly,pushedhimselftohisfeet.Hehobbled
across the room, almost slipping halfway there but righting himself with a
searing twinge. He turned the key in the lock, leaning against the wall for
balance,andhauledthedooropen.
Barnamwasstandingontheotherside,hisarmsoutstretched,readytocatch
him. The ignominy of it. To think that I, Sand dan Glokta, the greatest
swordsmantheUnionhaseverseen,mustbecarriedtomybathbyanoldman
sothatIcanwashmyownshitoff.Theymustbelaughingloudnow,allthose
fools I beat, if they still remember me. I’d be laughing too, if it didn’t hurt so
much. But he let the weight off his left leg and put his arm round Barnam’s
shoulderswithoutcomplaint.What’stheuseafterall?Mightaswellmakeiteasy
formyself.Aseasyasitcanbe.
Glokta took a deep breath. “Go gently, the leg hasn’t woken up yet.” They
hopped and stumbled down the corridor, slightly too narrow for both of them
together.Thebathroomseemedamileaway.Ormore.I’dratherwalkahundred
milesasIusedtobe,thantothebathroomasIam.Butthat’smybadluckisn’t
it?Youcan’tgoback.Notever.
The steam felt deliciously warm on Glokta’s clammy skin. With Barnam
holdinghimunderthearmsheslowlyliftedhisrightlegandputitgingerlyinto
thewater.Damn it,that’shot.Theoldservanthelpedhimgettheotherlegin,
then, taking him under the armpits, lowered him like a child, until he was
immerseduptohisneck.
“Ahhh.”Gloktacrackedatoothlesssmile.“HotastheMaker’sforge,Barnam,
justthewayIlikeit.”Theheatwasgettingintothelegnow,andthepainwas
subsiding.Not gone. Never gone. But better. A lot better. Glokta began to feel
almostasifhecouldfaceanotherday.Youhavetolearntolovethesmallthings
inlife,likeahotbath.Youhavetolovethesmallthings,whenyou’venothing
else.
Practical Frost was waiting for him downstairs in the tiny dining room, his
bulkwedgedintoalowchairagainstthewall.Gloktasaggedintotheotherchair
andcaughtawhifffromthesteamingporridgebowl,woodenspoonstickingup
atananglewithouteventouchingtheside.Hisstomachrumbledandhismouth
beganwateringfiercely.Allthesymptoms,infact,ofextremenausea.
“Hurray!”shoutedGlokta.“Porridgeagain!”Helookedoveratthemotionless
Practical. “Porridge and honey, better than money, everything’s funny, with
porridgeandhoney!”
Thepinkeyesdidnotblink.
“It’sarhymeforchildren.Mymotherusedtosingittome.Neveractuallygot
me to eat this slop though. But now,” and he dug the spoon in, “I can’t get
enoughofit.”
Froststaredbackathim.
“Healthy,”saidGlokta,forcingdownamouthfulofsweetmushandspooning
upanother,“delicious,”chokingdownsomemore,“andhere’stherealclincher,”
hegaggedslightlyonthenextswallow,“nochewingrequired.”Heshovedthe
mostlyfullbowlawayandtossed thespoon afterit. “Mmmmm,”he hummed.
“Agoodbreakfastmakesforagoodday,don’tyoufind?”
Itwaslikestaringatawhitewashedwall,butwithoutalltheemotion.
“SotheArchLectorwantsmeagain,doeshe?”
Thealbinonodded.
“And what might our illustrious leader desire with the likes of us, do you
think?”
Ashrug.
“Hmmm.” Glokta licked bits of porridge out of his empty gums. “Does he
seeminagoodmood,doyouknow?”
Anothershrug.
“Come,come,PracticalFrost,don’ttellmeeverythingatonce,Ican’ttakeit
in.”
Silence.Barnamenteredtheroomandclearedawaythebowl.“Doyouwant
anythingelse,sir?”
“Absolutely.Abighalf-rawslabofmeatandanicecrunchyapple.”Helooked
overatPracticalFrost.“IusedtoloveappleswhenIwasachild.”
HowmanytimeshaveImadethatjoke?Frostlookedbackimpassively,there
wasnolaughterthere.Gloktaturnedto Barnam, and the old man gave a tired
smile.
“Ohwell,”sighedGlokta.Amanhastohavehopedoesn’the?”
“Ofcoursesir,”mutteredtheservant,headingforthedoor.
Doeshe?
TheArchLector’sofficewasonthetopflooroftheHouseofQuestions,and
it was a long way up. Worse still, the corridors were busy with people.
Practicals,clerks,Inquisitors,crawlinglikeantsthroughacrumblingdung-hill.
WheneverhefelttheireyesonhimGloktawouldlimpalong,smiling,headheld
high.Wheneverhefelthimselfalonehewouldpauseandgasp,sweatandcurse,
andrubandslapthetenuouslifebackintohisleg.
Whydoesithavetobesohigh?heaskedhimselfasheshuffledupthedim
hallsandwindingstairsofthelabyrinthinebuilding.Bythetimehereachedthe
antechamberhewasexhaustedandblowinghard,lefthandsoreonthehandleof
hiscane.
The Arch Lector’s secretary examined him suspiciously from behind a big
darkdeskthattookuphalftheroom.Thereweresomechairsplacedoppositefor
people to get nervous waiting in, and two huge Practicals flanked the great
doubledoorstotheoffice,sostillandgrimastoappearapartofthefurniture.
“Doyouhaveanappointment?”demandedthesecretaryinashrillvoice.You
knowwhoIam,youself-importantlittleshit.
“Ofcourse,”snappedGlokta,“doyouthinkIlimpedallthewayuphereto
admireyourdesk?”
Thesecretarylookeddownhisnoseathim.Hewasapale,handsomeyoung
manwithamopofyellowhair.Thepuffedupfifthsonofsomeminornobleman
withover-activeloins,andhethinkshecanpatroniseme?“Andyournameis?”
heaskedwithasneer.
Glokta’spatiencewaswornoutbytheclimb.Hesmashedhiscanedownon
the top of the desk and the secretary near jumped out of his chair. “What are
you?Afuckingidiot?HowmanycrippledInquisitorsdoyouhavehere?”
“Er…”saidthesecretary,mouthworkingnervously.
“Er?Er?Isthatanumber?Speakup!”
“WellI—”
“I’mGlokta,youdolt!InquisitorGlokta!”
“Yes,sir,I—”
“Get your fat arse out of that chair, fool! Don’t keep me waiting!” The
secretary sprang up, hurried to the doors, pushed one open and stood aside
respectfully.“That’sbetter,”growledGlokta,shufflingafterhim.Helookedup
atthePracticalsashehobbledpast.Hewasalmostsureoneofthemhadaslight
smileonhisface.
Theroomhadhardlychangedsincehewaslastthere,sixyearsbefore.Itwas
a cavernous, round space, domed ceiling carved with gargoyle faces, its one
enormouswindowofferingaspectacularviewoverthespiresoftheUniversity,a
great section of the outer wall of the Agriont, and the looming outline of the
HouseoftheMakerbeyond.
Thechamber was mostlylinedwith shelvesandcabinets,stacked highwith
neatly ordered files and papers. A few dark portraits peered down from the
sparsewhitewalls,includingahugeoneofthecurrentKingoftheUnionasa
youngman,lookingwiseandstern.Nodoubtpaintedbeforehebecameasenile
joke.These daysthere’susually abitless authorityanda bitmorestray drool
abouthim.Therewasaheavyroundtableinthecentreoftheroom,itssurface
paintedwithamapoftheUnion in exquisite detail. Every city in which there
wasadepartmentoftheInquisitionwasmarkedwithapreciousstone,andatiny
silverreplicaofAduaroseoutofthetableatitshub.
The Arch Lector was sitting in an ancient high chair at this table, deep in
conversationwithanotherman:agaunt,balding,sour-facedoldfellowindark
robes. Sult beamed up as Glokta shuffled towards them, the other man’s
expressionhardlychanged.
“Why,InquisitorGlokta,delightedyoucouldjoinus.DoyouknowSurveyor
GeneralHalleck?”
“I have not had the pleasure,” said Glokta. Not that it looks like much of a
pleasure, though. The old bureaucrat stood and shook Glokta’s hand without
enthusiasm.
“AndthisisoneofmyInquisitors,SanddanGlokta.”
“Yesindeed,”murmuredHalleck.“Youusedtobeinthearmy,Ibelieve.Isaw
youfenceonce.”
Gloktatappedhislegwithhiscane.“Thatcan’thavebeenanytimerecently.”
“No.”Therewasasilence.
“The Surveyor General is likely soon to receive a most significant
promotion,” said Sult. “To a chair on the Closed Council itself.” The Closed
Council?Indeed?Amostsignificantpromotion.
Halleckseemedlessthandelighted,however.“Iwillconsideritdonewhenit
ishisMajesty’spleasuretoinviteme,”hesnapped,“andnotbefore.”
Sultfloatedsmoothlyoverthisrockyground.“IamsuretheCouncilfeelsthat
youaretheonlycandidateworthrecommending,nowthatSeppdanTeufelisno
longerbeingconsidered.”OuroldfriendTeufel?Nolongerconsideredforwhat?
Halleckfrownedandshookhishead.“Teufel.Iworkedwiththemanforten
years.Ineverlikedhim,”oranyoneelse,bythelookofyou,“butIwouldnever
havethoughthimatraitor.”
Sultshookhisheadsadly.“Weallfeelitkeenly,buthereishisconfessionin
blackandwhite.”Heheldupthefoldedpaperwithadolefulfrown.“Ifearthe
rootsofcorruptioncanrunverydeep.WhowouldknowthatbetterthanI,whose
sorrytaskitistoweedthegarden?”
“Indeed,indeed,”mutteredHalleck,noddinggrimly.“Youdeserveallofour
thanksforthat.Youalso,Inquisitor.”
“Ohno,notI,”saidGloktahumbly.Thethreemenlookedateachotherina
shamofmutualrespect.
Halleckpushedbackhischair.“Well,taxesdonotcollectthemselves.Imust
returntomywork.”
“Enjoyyourlastfewdaysinthejob,”saidSult.“Igiveyoumywordthatthe
Kingwillsendforyousoon!”
Halleck allowed himself the thinnest of smiles, then nodded stiffly to them
andstalkedaway.Thesecretaryusheredhimoutandpulledtheheavydoorshut.
Therewassilence.ButI’mdamnedifI’llbetheonetobreakit.
“Iexpectyou’rewonderingwhatthiswasallabout,eh,Glokta?”
“Thethoughthadcrossedmymind,yourEminence.”
“Ibetithad.”Sultsweptfromhischairandstrodeacrosstothewindow,his
white-gloved hands clasped behind his back. “The world changes, Glokta, the
world changes. The old order crumbles. Loyalty, duty, pride, honour. Notions
thathavefallenfarfromfashion.Whathasreplacedthem?”Heglancedoverhis
shoulderforamoment,andhislipcurled.“Greed.Merchantshavebecomethe
newpower in theland.Bankers, shopkeepers, salesmen.Littlemen, withlittle
mindsandlittleambitions.Menwhoseonlyloyaltyistothemselves,whoseonly
dutyistotheirownpurses,whoseonlyprideisinswindlingtheirbetters,whose
onlyhonourisweighedoutinsilvercoin.”Noneedtoaskwhereyoustandon
themerchantclass.
Sultscowledoutattheview,thenturnedbackintotheroom.“Nowitseems
anyone’s son can get an education, and a business, and become rich. The
merchantguilds:theMercers,theSpicersandtheirlike,growsteadilyinwealth
and influence. Jumped-up, posturing commoners dictating to their natural
betters. Their fat and greedy fingers, fumbling at the strings of power. It is
almosttoomuchtostand.”Hegaveashudderashepacedacrossthefloor.
“I will speak honestly with you, Inquisitor.” The Arch Lector waved his
gracefulhandasthoughhishonestywereapricelessgift.“TheUnionhasnever
seemedmorepowerful,hasnevercontrolledmoreland,butbeneaththefaçade
weareweak.Itis hardly a secret that the King has becomeentirelyunableto
makehisowndecisions.CrownPrinceLadislaisafop,surroundedbyflatterers
and fools, caring for nothing but gambling and clothes. Prince Raynault is far
better fitted to rule, but he is the younger brother. The Closed Council, whose
taskitshouldbetosteerthisleakingvessel,ispackedwithfraudsandschemers.
Somemaybeloyal,somearedefinitelynot,eachintentonpullingtheKinghis
own way.” How frustrating, when I suppose they should all be pulling him in
yours?
“Meanwhile, the Union is beset with enemies, dangers outside our borders,
anddangerswithin.GurkhulhasanewandvigorousEmperor,fittinghiscountry
foranotherwar.TheNorthmenareupinarmsaswell,skulkingonthebordersof
Angland.IntheOpenCouncilthenoblemenclamourforancientrights,whilein
thevillagesthepeasantsclamourfornewones.”Hegaveadeepsigh.“Yes,the
oldordercrumbles,andnoonehastheheartorthestomachtosupportit.”
Sultpaused,staringupatoneoftheportraits:ahefty,baldmandressedallin
white. Glokta recognised him well enough. Zoller, the greatest of all Arch
Lectors.TirelesschampionoftheInquisition,herotothetorturer,scourgeofthe
disloyal.Heglareddownbalefullyfromthewall,asthoughevenbeyonddeath
hecouldburntraitorswithaglance.
“Zoller,”growled Sult.“Thingswere differentin his day,Ican tellyou.No
whingingpeasantsthen,noswindlingmerchants,nosulkingnoblemen.Ifmen
forgottheirplacetheywereremindedwithhotiron,andanycarpingjudgewho
daredtowhineaboutitwasneverheardfromagain.TheInquisitionwasanoble
institution,filledwiththebestandthebrightest.ToservetheirKingandtoroot
outdisloyaltyweretheironlydesires,andtheironlyrewards.”Oh,thingswere
grandintheolddays.
TheArchLectorslidbackintohisseatandleanedforwardacrossthetable.
“Nowwehavebecomeaplacewherethirdsonsofimpoverishednoblemencan
linetheirpocketswithbribes,orwherenear-criminalscumcanindulgeapassion
for torture. Our influence with the King has been steadily eroded, our budgets
havebeensteadilycut.Oncewewerefearedandrespected,Glokta,butnow…”
We’re a miserable sham. Sult frowned, “Well, less so. Intrigues and treasons
abound,andIfearthattheInquisitionisnolongerequaltoitstask.Toomanyof
theSuperiors cannolonger be trusted.They are nolonger concerned withthe
interestsoftheKing,orofthestate,orofanybody’sinterestsbeyondtheirown.”
TheSuperiors?Nottobetrusted?Iswoonwiththeshock.Sult’sfrowngrewstill
deeper.“AndnowFeektisdead.”
Gloktalookedup.Nowthatisnews.“TheLordChancellor?”
“Itwillbecomepublicknowledgetomorrowmorning.Hediedsuddenlyafew
nights ago, while you were busy with your friend Rews. There are still some
questionssurroundinghisdeath,butthemanwasnearlyninety.Thesurpriseis
that he lasted this long. The golden Chancellor they called him, the greatest
politicianofhisday.Evennowtheyaresettinghislikenessinstone,forastatue
ontheKingsway.”Sultsnortedtohimself.“Thegreatestgiftthatanyofuscan
hopefor.”
The Arch Lector’s eyes narrowed to blue slits. “If you have any childish
notionsthattheUnioniscontrolledbyitsKing,orbythosepratingblue-blood
fools on the Open Council, you can let them wilt now. The Closed Council is
wherethe powerlies.More than eversince the King’s illness.Twelvemen, in
twelve big, uncomfortable chairs, myself among them. Twelve men with very
differentideas,andfortwentyyears,warandpeace,Feektheldusinbalance.He
playedofftheInquisitionagainstthejudges,thebankersagainstthemilitary.He
wastheaxleon whichthe Kingdomturned,thefoundationonwhich itrested,
and his death has left a hole. All kinds of gaping holes, and people will be
rushing to fill them. I have a feeling that whining ass Marovia, that bleeding
heartofaHighJustice,thatself-appointedchampionofthecommonman,will
befirstinthequeue.Itisafluid,andadangerous,situation.”TheArchLector
plantedhisfistsfirmlyonthetablebeforehim.“Wemustensurethatthewrong
peopledonottakeadvantageofit.”
Gloktanodded.IthinkItakeyourmeaning,ArchLector.Wemustensurethat
itiswewhotakeadvantage,andnooneelse.
“It need hardly be said that the post of Lord Chancellor is one of the most
powerfulintherealm.Thegatheringoftaxes,thetreasury,theKing’smints,all
comeunder his auspices.Money,Glokta, money. Andmoneyis power,Ineed
hardly tell you. A new Chancellor will be appointed tomorrow. The foremost
candidate was our erstwhile Master of the Mints, Sepp dan Teufel.” I see.
Somethingtellsmehewillnolongerbeunderconsideration.
Sult’slipcurled.“Teufelwascloselylinkedwiththemerchantguilds,andthe
Mercersinparticular.”Hissneerbecameascowl.“Inadditiontowhichhewas
anassociateofHighJusticeMarovia.So,yousee,hewouldhardlyhavemadea
suitable Lord Chancellor.” No indeed. Hardly suitable. “Surveyor General
Halleckisafarbetterchoice,inmyopinion.”
Gloktalookedtowardsthedoor.“Him?LordChancellor?”
Sult got up smiling and moved over to a cabinet against the wall. “There
really is no one else. Everyone hates him, and he hates everyone, except me.
Furthermore,heisahard-nosedconservative,whodespisesthemerchantclass
andeverythingtheystandfor.”Heopenedthecabinetandtookouttwoglasses
andanornatedecanter.“IfnotexactlyafriendlyfaceontheCouncil,hewillat
least be a sympathetic one, and damned hostile toward everyone else. I can
hardlythinkofamoresuitablecandidate.”
Gloktanodded.“Heseemshonest.”ButnotsohonestthatI’dtrusthimtoput
meinthebath.Wouldyou,yourEminence?
“Yes,”saidSult,“hewillbeveryvaluabletous.”Hepouredouttwoglasses
ofrichredwine.“Andjustasabonus,Iwasabletoarrangeforasympathetic
new Master of the Mints as well. I hear that the Mercers are absolutely biting
theirtonguesoffwithfury.Marovia’snonetoohappyeither,thebastard.”Sult
chuckledtohimself.“Allgoodnews,andwehaveyoutothank.”Heheldout
oneoftheglasses.
Poison?AslowdeathtwitchingandpukingontheArchLectorslovelymosaic
floor?Orjustpitchingontomyfaceonhistable?Buttherewasreallynooption
but to grasp the glass and take a hearty swig. The wine was unfamiliar but
delicious.Probablyfromsomewhereverybeautifulandfaraway.AtleastifIdie
uphereIwonthavetomakeitbackdownallthosesteps.ButtheArchLector
was drinking too, all smiles and good grace. So I suppose I will last out the
afternoon,afterall.
“Yes,wehavemadeagoodfirststep.Thesearedangeroustimesalright,and
yet danger and opportunity often walk hand in hand.” Glokta felt a strange
sensation creeping up his back. Is that fear, or ambition, or both? “I need
someone to help me put matters in order. Someone who does not fear the
Superiors,orthemerchants,oreventheClosedCouncil.Someonewhocanbe
relied upon to act with subtlety, and discretion, and ruthlessness. Someone
whoseloyaltytotheUnionisbeyondquestion,butwhohasnofriendswithinthe
government.” Someone who’s hated by everyone? Someone to take the fall if
thingsturnsour?Someonewhowillhavefewmournersattheirfuneral?
“IhaveneedofanInquisitorExempt,Glokta.Someonetooperatebeyondthe
Superiors’control,butwithmyfullauthority.Someoneanswerableonlytome.”
TheArchLectorraisedaneyebrow,asthoughthethoughthadonlyjustcometo
him.“Itstrikesmethatyouareexceptionallywellsuitedtothistask.Whatdo
youthink?”
Ithinktheholderofsuchapostwouldhaveagreatmanyenemiesandonly
onefriend.GloktapeeredupattheArchLector.Andthatfriendmightnotbeso
veryreliable.Ithinktheholderofsuchapostmightnotlastlong.“CouldIhave
sometimetoconsiderit?”
“No.”
Dangerandopportunityoftenwalkhandinhand…“ThenIaccept.”
“Excellent.Idobelievethisisthestartofalongandproductiverelationship.”
Sult smiled at him over the rim of his glass. “You know, Glokta, of all the
merchantsgrubbingawayoutthere,itistheMercersIfindthemostunpalatable.
ItwaslargelythroughtheirinfluencethatWestportenteredtheUnion,anditwas
becauseofWestport’smoneythatwewontheGurkishwar.TheKingrewarded
them,ofcourse,withpricelesstradingrights,buteversincethentheirarrogance
has been insufferable. Anyone would have thought they fought the battles
themselves,fortheairstheyhaveputon,andthelibertiestheyhavetaken.The
honourableGuildofMercers,”hesneered.“Itoccurstome,nowthatyourfriend
Rewshasgivenusthemeanstohooktheminsodeeply,itwouldbeashameto
letthemwrigglefree.”
Gloktawasmuchsurprised,thoughhethoughthehiditwell.Togofurther?
Why? The Mercers wriggle free and they keep on paying, and that keeps all
kinds of people happy. As things are, they’re scared and soft—wondering who
Rewsnamed,whomightbenextinthechair.Ifwegofurthertheymaybehurt,
or finished entirely. Then they’ll stop paying, and a lot of people will be
unhappy. Some of them in this very building. “I can easily continue my
investigations, your Eminence, if you would like me to.” Glokta took another
sip.Itreallywasanexcellentwine.
“We must be cautious. Cautious and very thorough. The Mercers’ money
flowslikemilk.Theyhavemanyfriends,evenamongstthehighestcirclesofthe
nobility. Brock, Heugen, Isher, and plenty more besides. Some of the very
greatestmenintheland.They’veallbeenknowntosuckatthattit,onetimeor
another, and babies will cry when their milk is snatched away.” A cruel grin
flickered across Sult’s face. “But still, if children are to learn discipline, they
must sometimes be made to weep… who did that worm Rews name in his
confession?”
Glokta leaned forward painfully and slid Rews’ paper of confession toward
him,unfoldeditandscannedthelistofnamesfrombottomtotop.
“SeppdanTeufel,weallknow.”
“Oh,weknowandlovehim,Inquisitor,”saidSult,beamingdown,“butIfeel
wemaysafelycrosshimoffthelist.Whoelse?”
“Well, let’s see,” Glokta took a leisurely look back at the paper. “There’s
HarodPolst,aMercer.”Anobody.
Sultwavedhishandimpatiently.“He’snobody.”
“SolimoScandi,aMercerfromWestport.”Alsonobody.
“No, no, Glokta, we can do better than Solimo what’s-his-name can’t we?
TheselittleMercersareofnorealinterest.Pulluptheroot,andtheleavesdieby
themselves.”
“Quite so, Arch Lector. We have Villem dan Robb, minor nobility, holds a
juniorcustomspost.”Sultlookedthoughtful,shookhishead.“Thenthere’s—”
“Wait! Villem dan Robb…” The Arch Lector snapped his fingers, “His
brother Kiral is one of the Queen’s gentlemen. He snubbed me at a social
gathering.”Sultsmiled.“Yes,VillemdanRobb,bringhimin.”
And so we go deeper. “I serve and obey, your Eminence. Is there anyone’s
nameinparticularthatneedbementioned?”Gloktasetdownhisemptyglass.
“No.”TheArchLectorturnedawayandwavedhishandagain.“Anyof’em,
allof’em.Idon’tcare.”
FirstoftheMagi
Thelakestretchedaway,fringedbysteeprocksanddrippinggreenery,surface
pricked by the rain, flat and grey as far as the eye could see. Logen’s eye
couldn’tseetoofarinthisweather,ithadtobesaid.Theoppositeshorecould
havebeenahundredstridesaway,butthecalmwaterslookeddeep.Verydeep.
Logen had long ago given up any attempt at staying dry, and the water ran
throughhishairanddownhisface,drippedfromhisnose,hisfingers,hischin.
Beingwet,tired,andhungryhadbecomeapartoflife.Itoftenhadbeen,come
tothinkonit.Heclosedhiseyesandfelttherainpatteragainsthisskin,heard
thewaterlappingontheshingle.Hekneltbythelake,pulledthestopperfrom
hisflaskandpusheditunderthesurface,watchedthebubblesbreakasitfilled
up.
MalacusQuaistumbledoutofthebushes,breathingfastandshallow.Hesank
downtohisknees,crawledagainsttherootsofatree,coughedoutphlegmonto
thepebbles.Hiscoughingsoundedbadnow.Itcamerightupfromhisgutsand
madehiswholeribcagerattle.Hewasevenpalerthanhehadbeenwhenthey
firstmet, andalot thinner.Logenwassomewhat thinnertoo.These werelean
times,allinall.Hewalkedovertothehaggardapprenticeandsquatteddown.
“Just give me a moment.” Quai closed his sunken eyes and tipped his head
back.“Justamoment.”Hismouthhungopen,thetendonsinhisscrawnyneck
standingout.Helookedlikeacorpsealready.
“Don’tresttoolong.Youmightnevergetup.”
Logenheldouttheflask.Quaididn’tevenlifthisarmtotakeit,soLogenput
itagainsthislipsandtippeditupalittle.Hetookawincingswallow,coughed,
thenhisheaddroppedbackagainstthetreelikeastone.
“Doyouknowwhereweare?”askedLogen.
The apprentice blinked out at the water as though he’d only just noticed it.
“Thismustbethenorthendofthelake…thereshouldbeatrack.”Hisvoicehad
sunktoawhisper.“Atthesouthernendthere’saroadwithtwostones.”Hegave
a sudden violent cough, swallowed with difficulty. “Follow the road over the
bridgeandyou’rethere,”hecroaked.
Logenlooked offalongthebeach atthe drippingtrees.“How farisit?” No
answer. He took hold of the sick man’s bony shoulder and shook it. Quai’s
eyelidsflickeredopen,hestaredupblearily,tryingtofocus.“Howfar?”
“Fortymiles.”
Logensuckedhisteeth.Quaiwouldn’tbewalkingfortymiles.He’dbelucky
tomakefortystridesonhisown.Heknewitwellenough,youcouldseeitinhis
eyes. He’d be dead soon, Logen reckoned, a few days at the most. He’d seen
strongermendieofafever.
Fortymiles.Logenthoughtaboutitcarefully,rubbinghischinwithhisthumb.
Fortymiles.
“Shit,”hewhispered.
Hedraggedthepackoverandpulleditopen.Theyhadsomefoodleft,butnot
much. A few shreds of tough dried meat, a heel of mouldy black bread. He
lookedoutoverthelake,sopeaceful.Theywouldn’tberunningoutofdrinking
wateranytimesoonatleast.Hepulledhisheavycookpotoutofhispackandset
itdownontheshingle.They’dbeentogetheralongtime,buttherewasnothing
lefttocook.Youcan’tbecomeattachedtothings,notouthereinthewild.He
tossed the rope away into the bushes, then threw the lightened pack over his
shoulder.
Quai’s eyes had closed again, and he was scarcely breathing. Logen still
rememberedthefirsttimehehadtoleavesomeonebehind,remembereditlikeit
wasyesterday.Strangehowtheboy’snamehadgonebutthefacewaswithhim
still.
TheShankahadtakenapieceoutofhisthigh.Abigpiece.He’dmoanedall
the way, he couldn’t walk. The wound was going bad, he was dying anyway.
Theyhadtoleavehim.NoonehadblamedLogenforit.Theboyhadbeentoo
young,he should neverhavegone. Badluckwas all,couldhappen toanyone.
He’dcriedafterthemastheymadetheirwaydownthehillsideinagrim,silent
group,headsdown.Logenseemedtohearthecriesevenwhenthey’dlefthim
farbehind.Hecouldstillhearthem.
Inthewarsithadbeendifferent.Mendroppedfromthecolumnsallthetime
onthelongmarches,inthecoldmonths.Firsttheyfelltotheback,thentheyfell
behind,thentheyfellover.Thecold,thesick,thewounded.Logenshiveredand
hunchedhisshoulders.Atfirsthe’dtriedtohelpthem.Thenhebecamegrateful
he wasn’t one of them. Then he stepped over the corpses and hardly noticed
them. You learn to tell when someone isn’t getting up again. He looked at
Malacus Quai. One more death in the wild was nothing to remark upon. You
havetoberealistic,afterall.
Theapprenticestartedfromhisfitfulsleepandtriedtopushhimselfup.His
handswereshakingbad.HelookedupatLogen,eyesglitteringbright.“Ican’t
getup,”hecroaked.
“I know. I’m surprised you made it this far.” It didn’t matter so much now.
Logenknewtheway.Ifhecouldfindthattrackhemightmaketwentymilesa
day.
“Ifyouleavemesomeofthefood…perhaps…afteryougettothelibrary…
someone…”
“No,”saidLogen,settinghisjaw.“Ineedthefood.”
Quaimadeastrangesound,somewherebetweenacoughandasob.
LogenleaneddownandsethisrightshoulderinQuai’sstomach,pushedhis
arm under his back. “I can’t carry you forty miles without it,” and he
straightened up, hauling the apprentice over his shoulder. He set off down the
shore, holding Quai in place by his jacket, his boots crunching into the wet
shingle.Theapprenticedidn’tevenmove,justhungtherelikeasackofwetrags,
hislimparmsknockingagainstthebacksofLogen’slegs.
Whenhe’dmadeitthirtystridesorsoLogenturnedaroundandlookedback.
Thepotwassittingforlornbythelake,alreadyfillingupwithrainwater.They’d
beenthroughalottogether,himandthatpot.
“Fareyouwell,oldfriend.”
Thepotdidnotreply.
Logen set his shivering burden gently down at the side of the road and
stretchedhisachingback,scratchedatthedirtybandageonhisarm,tookadrink
ofwaterfromhisflask.Waterwastheonlythingtohavepassedhissorelipsthat
day,andthehungerwasgnawingathisguts.Atleastithadstoppedraining.You
havetolearntolovethesmallthingsinlife,likedryboots.Youhavetolovethe
smallthings,whenyou’venothingelse.
Logenspatinthedirtandrubbedthelifebackintohisfingers.Therewasno
missingtheplace,thatwassure.Thetwostonestoweredovertheroad,ancient
andpitted,patchedwithgreenmossatthebaseandgreylichenhigherup.They
were covered in faded carvings, lines of letters in a script Logen couldn’t
understand, didn’t even recognise. There was a forbidding feel about them
though,asensemoreofwarningthanwelcome.
“TheFirstLaw…”
“What?”saidLogen,surprised.Quaihadbeeninanunpleasantplacebetween
sleepand wakingeversince theyleftthe potbehindtwo daysbefore.The pot
couldhavemademoremeaningfulsoundsinthattime.ThatmorningLogenhad
wokentofindhimscarcelybreathing.He’dbeensurethathewasdead,tobegin
with,butthemanwasstillclingingweaklytolife.Hedidn’tgiveupeasy,you
hadtogivehimthat.
LogenkneltdownandshovedthewethairoutofQuai’sface.Theapprentice
suddenlygrabbedhiswristandstartedforward.
“It’sforbidden,”hewhispered,staringatLogenwithwideeyes,“totouchthe
OtherSide!”
“Eh?”
“Tospeakwithdevils,” he croaked, grabbing hold of Logen’sbattered coat.
“Thecreaturesoftheworldbelowaremadeoflies!Youmustn’tdoit!”
“Iwon’t,”mutteredLogen,wonderingifhe’deverknowwhattheapprentice
wastalkingabout.“Iwon’t.Forwhatthat’sworth.”
Itwasn’tworthmuch.Quaihadalreadydroppedbackintohistwitchinghalf-
sleep.Logenchewedathislip.Hehopedtheapprenticewouldwakeagain,but
hedidn’tthinkitlikely.Still,perhapsthisBayazwouldbeabletodosomething,
hewastheFirstoftheMagiafterall,greatinhighwisdomandsoon.SoLogen
heftedQuaiupontohisshoulderagainandtrudgedbetweentheancientstones.
Theroadclimbedsteepintotherocksabovethelake,herebuiltup,therecut
deepintothestonyground.Itwaswornandpittedwithage,pockedwithweeds.
It switched back on itself again and again, and soon Logen was panting and
sweating,hislegsburningwiththeeffort.Hispacebegantoslow.
Thefactwas,hewasgettingtired.Notjusttiredfromtheclimb,orfromthe
back-breaking slog he’d walked that day with a half-dead apprentice over his
shoulder,orfromtheslogthedaybefore,orevenfromthefightinthewoods.
Hewastiredofeverything.OftheShanka,ofthewars,ofhiswholelife.
“I can’t walk for ever, Malacus, I can’t fight for ever. How much of this
horribleshitshouldamanhavetotake?Ineedtositdownaminute.Inaproper
fuckingchair!Isthattoomuchtoask?Isit?”Inthisframeofmind,cursingand
grumblingateverystep,andwithQuai’sheadknockingagainsthisarse,Logen
cametothebridge.
Itwasasancientastheroad,coatedwithcreepers,simpleandslender,arching
maybe twenty strides across a dizzying gorge. Far below a river surged over
jaggedrocks,fillingtheairwithnoiseandshiningspray.Onthefarsideahigh
wallhadbeenbuiltbetweentoweringfacesofmossystone,madewithsuchcare
itwasdifficulttosaywherethenaturalcliffendedandtheman-madeonebegan.
A single ancient door was set into it, faced with beaten copper, turned streaky
greenbythewetandtheyears.
AsLogenpickedhiswaycarefullyacrosstheslipperystonehefoundhimself
wondering,throughforceofhabit,howyoucouldstormthisplace.Youcouldn’t.
Notwithathousandpickedmen.Therewasonlyanarrowshelfofrockbefore
thedoor,noroomtosetaladderorswingaram.Thewallwastenstrideshighat
least,andthegatehadadreadfulsolidlook.Andifthedefendersweretobring
down the bridge… Logen peered over the edge, and swallowed. It was a long
waydown.
Hetooka deepbreathand thumpedonthedampgreencopperwithhisfist.
Fourbig,boomingknocks.He’dbeatonthegatesofCarleonlikethat,afterthe
battle,anditspeoplehadrushedtosurrender.Noonerushedtodoanythingnow.
Hewaited.Heknockedagain.Hewaited.Hebecamewetterandwetterinthe
mist from the river. He ground his teeth. He raised his arm to knock again. A
narrowhatchsnappedopen,andapairofrheumyeyesstaredathimcoldlyfrom
betweenthickbars.
“Who’sthisnow?”snappedagruffvoice.
“LogenNinefingersismyname.I’ve—”
“Neverheardofyou.”
Hardly the welcome Logen had been hoping for. “I’ve come to see Bayaz.”
Noreply.“TheFirstofthe—”
“Yes.He’shere.”Butthedoordidn’topen.“Heisn’ttakingvisitors.Itoldthat
tothelastmessenger.”
“I’mnomessenger,IhaveMalacusQuaiwithme.”
“Malacawhat?”
“Quai,theapprentice.”
“Apprentice?”
“He’sveryill,”saidLogenslowly.“Hemaydie.”
“Ill,yousay?Die,wasit?”
“Yes.”
“Andwhatwasyournameagain—”
“Just open the fucking door!” Logen shook his fist pointlessly at the slot.
“Please.”
“Wedon’tletjustanyonein…holdup.Showmeyourhands.”
“What?”
“Yourhands.”Logenheldhishandsup.Thewateryeyesmovedslowlyacross
hisfingers.“Therearenine.There’sonemissing,see?”Heshovedthestumpat
thehatch.
“Nine,isit?Youshouldhavesaid.”
Boltsclankedandthedoorcreakedslowlyopen.Anelderlyman,bentunder
anold-fashionedsuitofarmour,wasstaringathimsuspiciouslyfromtheother
side.Hewasholdingalongswordmuchtooheavyforhim.Itspointwobbled
aroundwildlyashestrainedtokeepitupright.
Logenhelduphishands.“Isurrender.”
Theancientgatekeeperwasnotamused.HegruntedsourlyasLogenstepped
pasthim,thenhewrestledthedoorshutandfumbledwiththebolts,turnedand
trudged away without another word. Logen followed him up a narrow valley
linedwithstrangehouses,weatheredand mossy,half dugintothesteeprocks,
mergingwiththemountainside.
Adour-facedwomanwasworkingataspinningwheelonadoorstep,andshe
frowned at Logen as he walked past with the unconscious apprentice over his
shoulder.Logensmiledbackather.Shewasnobeauty,thatwassure,butithad
beenaverylongtime.Thewomanduckedintoherhouseandkickedthedoor
shut,leavingthewheelspinning.Logensighed.Theoldmagicwasstillthere.
The next house was a bakery with a squat, smoking chimney. The smell of
bakingbreadmadeLogen’semptystomachrumble.Furtheron,acoupleofdark-
haired children were laughing and playing, running round a scrubby old tree.
TheyremindedLogenofhisownchildren.Theydidn’tlookanythinglikethem,
buthewasinamorbidframeofmind.
Hehadtoadmittobeingalittledisappointed.He’dbeenexpectingsomething
cleverer-looking, and a lot more beards. These folk didn’t seem so very wise.
Theylookedjustlikeanyotherpeasants.Notunlikehisownvillagehadlooked
before the Shanka came. He wondered if he was in the right place. Then they
roundedabendintheroad.
Threegreat,taperingtowerswerebuiltintothemountainsideahead,joinedat
theirbasesbutseparatinghigherup,coveredindarkivy.Theyseemedfarolder
eventhantheancientbridgeandroad,asoldasthemountainitself.Ajumbled
messofotherbuildingscrowdedaroundtheirfeet,stragglingaroundthesidesof
a wide courtyard in which people were busy with everyday chores. A thin
womanwaschurningsomemilkonastoop.Astockyblacksmithwastryingto
shoe a restless mare. An old, bald butcher in a stained apron had finished
choppingupsomeanimalandwaswashinghisbloodyforearmsinatrough.
And on a set of wide steps before the tallest of the three towers sat a
magnificent old man. He was dressed all in white, with a long beard, a hook
nose, and white hair spilling from under a white skull-cap. Logen was
impressed, finally. The First of the Magi surely looked the part. As Logen
shuffledtowardshimhestartedupfromthestepsandhurriedover,whitecoat
flappingbehindhim.
“Sethimdownhere,”hemuttered,indicatingapatchofgrassbythewell,and
LogenkneltanddumpedQuaiontheground,asgentlyashecouldwithhisback
achingsomuch.Theoldmanbentoverhim,laidagnarledhandonhisforehead.
“Ibroughtyourapprenticeback,”mutteredLogenpointlessly.
“Mine?”
“Aren’tyouBayaz?”
Theoldmanlaughed.“Ohno,IamWells,headservanthereattheLibrary.”
“I am Bayaz,” came a voice from behind. The butcher was walking slowly
toward them, wiping his hands on a cloth. He looked maybe sixty but heavily
built,withastrongface,deeplylined,andaclose-croppedgreybeardaroundhis
mouth.Hewasentirelybald,andtheafternoonsunshonebrightlyoffhistanned
pate. He was neither handsome nor majestic, but as he came closer there did
seemtobesomethingabouthim.Anassurance,anairofcommand.Amanused
togivingorders,andtobeingobeyed.
The First of the Magi took Logen’s left hand in both of his and pressed it
warmly.Thenheturneditoverandexaminedthestumpofhismissingfinger.
“Logen Ninefingers, then. The one they call the Bloody-Nine. I have heard
storiesaboutyou,evenshutuphereinmylibrary.”
Logen winced. He could guess what sort of stories the old man might have
heard.“Thatwasalongtimeago.”
“Ofcourse.Weallhaveapast,eh?Imakenojudgementsonhearsay.”And
Bayaz smiled. A broad, white, beaming smile. His face lit up with friendly
creases,butahardnesslingeredaroundhiseyes,deep-setandglisteninggreen.A
stonyhardness. Logen grinnedback,but he reckonedalreadythat he wouldn’t
wanttomakeanenemyofthisman.
“Andyouhavebrought our missing lamb back to thefold.”Bayazfrowned
downatMalacusQuai,motionlessonthegrass.“Howishe?”
“Ithinkhewilllive,sir,”saidWells,“butweshouldgethimoutofthecold.”
TheFirstoftheMagisnappedhisfingersandasharpcrackechoedfromthe
buildings. “Help him.” The smith hurried forward and took Quai’s feet, and
togetherheandWellscarriedtheapprenticethroughthetalldoorintothelibrary.
“Now, Master Ninefingers, I have called and you have answered, and that
showsgoodmanners.MannersmightbeoutoffashionintheNorth,butIwant
youtoknowthatIappreciatethem.Courtesyshouldbeansweredwithcourtesy,
Ihavealwaysthought.Butwhat’sthisnow?”Theoldgatekeeperwashurrying
backacrosstheyard,greatlyoutofbreath.“Twovisitorsinoneday?Whatever
next?”
“Master Bayaz!” wheezed the gatekeeper, “there’s riders at the gate, well
horsedandwellarmed!Theysaythey’veanurgentmessagefromtheKingof
theNorthmen!”
Bethod.Ithadtobe.Thespiritshadsaidhehadgivenhimselfagoldenhat,
and who else would have dared to call himself King of the Northmen? Logen
swallowed.He’dgotawayfromtheirlastmeetingwithhislifeandnothingelse,
andyetitwasbetterthanmanyhadmanaged,farbetter.
“Well,master?”askedthegatekeeper,“shallItellthemtobeoff?”
“Wholeadsthem?”
“Afancyladwithasourface.Saidhe’sthisKing’ssonorsomething.”
“WasitCalderorScale?They’rebothsomethingsour.”
“Theyoungerone,Ireckon.”
Calderthen,thatwassomething.Eitheronewasbad,butScalewasmuchthe
worse. Both together were an experience to be avoided. Bayaz seemed to
consideramoment.“PrinceCaldermayenter,buthismenmustremainbeyond
thebridge.”
“Yessir,beyondthebridge.”Thegatekeeperwheezedaway.He’dlovethat,
wouldCalder.Logenwasgreatlytickledbythethoughtoftheso-calledPrince
screaminguselesslythroughthatlittleslot.
“TheKingoftheNorthmennow,canyouimagine?”Bayazstaredabsentlyoff
downthevalley.“IknewBethodwhenhewasnotsogrand.Andsodidyou,eh,
MasterNinefingers?”
Logen frowned. He’d known Bethod when he was next to nothing, a little
chieftainlikesomanyothers.LogenhadcomeforhelpagainsttheShanka,and
Bethodhadgivenit,ataprice.Backthen,thepricehadseemedlight,andwell
worth the paying. Just to fight. To kill a few men. Logen had always found
killing easy, and Bethod had seemed a man well worth fighting for—bold,
proud, ruthless, venomously ambitious. All qualities that Logen had admired,
backthen,allqualitieshethoughthehadhimself.Buttimehadchangedthem
both,andthepricehadrisen.
“He used to be a better man,” Bayaz was musing, “but crowns sit badly on
somepeople.Doyouknowhissons?”
“BetterthanI’dlike.”
Bayaznodded.“They’reabsoluteshit,aren’tthey?AndIfearnowtheywill
neverimprove.ImaginethatpinheadScaleaking.Ugh!”Thewizardshuddered.
“Italmostmakesyouwanttowishhisfatheralonglife.Almost,butnotquite.”
ThelittlegirlthatLogenhadseenplayingscurriedover.Shehadachainof
yellowflowersinherhands,andsheheldituptotheoldwizard.“Imadethis,”
shesaid.Logencouldheartherapidpoundingofhoovescominguptheroad.
“For me? How perfectly charming.” Bayaz took the flowers from her.
“Excellent work, my dear. The Master Maker himself could not have done
better.”
Theriderclatteredoutintotheyard,pulledhishorseupsavagelyandswung
fromthesaddle.Calder.Theyears hadbeen kinderto himthan toLogen, that
muchwasclear.Hewasdressedallinfineblackstrimmedwithdarkfur.Abig
red jewel flashed on his finger, the hilt of his sword was set with gold. He’d
grownandfilledout,halfthesizeofhisbrotherScale,butabigmanstill.His
pale,proudfacewasprettymuchasLogenrememberedthough,thinlipstwisted
inapermanentsneer.
Hethrewhisreinsatthewomanchurningmilkthenstrodebrisklyacrossthe
yard, glowering about him, his long hair flapping in the breeze. When he was
abouttenstridesawayhesawLogen.Hisjawdropped.Caldertookashocked
halfstepbackandhishandtwitchedtowardshissword.Thenhesmiledacold
littlesmile.
“Soyou’vetakentokeepingdogshaveyou,Bayaz?I’dwatchthisone.He’s
beenknowntobitehismaster’shand.”Hislipcurledfurther.“Icouldputhim
downforyouifyou’dlike.”
Logen shrugged. Hard words are for fools and cowards. Calder might have
beenboth,butLogenwasneither.Ifyoumeantokill,you’rebettergettingright
toitthantalkingaboutit.Talk onlymakes theother manready, andthat’sthe
lastthingyouwant.SoLogensaidnothing.Caldercouldtakethatforweakness
if he pleased, and so much the better. Fights might find Logen depressingly
often,buthewaslong,longpastlookingforthem.
Bethod’ssecondsonturnedhiscontemptontheFirstoftheMagi.“Myfather
willbedispleased,Bayaz!Thatmymenmustwaitoutsidethegateshowslittle
respect!”
“ButIhavesolittle,PrinceCalder,”saidthewizardcalmly.“Pleasedon’tbe
downhearted, though. Your last messenger wasn’t allowed over the bridge, so
youseewe’remakingprogress.”
Calderscowled.“Whyhaveyounotansweredmyfather’ssummons?”
“There are so many demands on my time.” Bayaz held up the chain of
flowers.“Thesedon’tmakethemselves,youknow.”
ThePrincewas not amused. “My father,” heboomed,“Bethod,King of the
Northmen,commandsyoutoattenduponhimatCarleon!”Heclearedhisthroat.
“Hewillnot…”Hecoughed.
“What?”demandedBayaz.“Speakup,child!”
“He commands…” The Prince coughed again, spluttered, choked. He put a
handtohisthroat.Theairseemedtohavebecomeverystill.
“Commands, does he?” Bayaz frowned. “Bring great Juvens back from the
land of the dead. He may command me. He alone, and no other.” The frown
grewdeeper still,andLogen hadtoresist astrangedesire toback away. “You
maynot.Normayyourfather,whateverhecallshimself.”
Calder sank slowly to his knees, face twisted, eyes watering. Bayaz looked
himupanddown.“Whatsolemnattire,didsomebodydie?Here,”andhetossed
the chain of flowers over the Prince’s head. “A little colour may lighten your
mood.Tellyourfatherhemustcomehimself.Idonotwastemytimeonfools
andyoungersons.Iamoldfashionedinthis.Iliketotalktothehorse’shead,
notthehorse’sarse.Doyouunderstandme,boy?”Calderwassaggingsideways,
eyesredandbulging.TheFirstoftheMagiwavedhishand.“Youmaygo.”
The Prince heaved in a ragged breath, coughed and reeled to his feet,
stumbled for his horse and hauled himself up into the saddle with a deal less
gracethanhehadgotdown.Heshotamurderousglanceoverhisshoulderashe
madeforthegate,butitdidn’thavequitethesameweightwithhisfaceredasa
slappedarse.Logenrealisedhewasgrinning,wide.Itwasalongtimesincehe’d
enjoyedhimselfthismuch.
“Iunderstandthatyoucanspeaktothespirits.”
Logenwascaughtoffguard.“Eh?”
“Tospeaktothespirits.”Bayazshookhishead.“Itisararegiftinthesetimes.
Howarethey?”
“What,thespirits?”
“Yes.”
“Dwindling.”
“Soontheywillallsleep,eh?Themagicleaksoutoftheworld.Thatistheset
orderofthings.Overtheyearsmyknowledgehasgrown,andyetmypowerhas
diminished.”
“Calderseemedimpressed.”
“Bah.”Bayazwavedhishand.“Amerenothing.Alittletrickofairandflesh,
easily done. No, believe me, the magic ebbs away. It is a fact. A natural law.
Still,therearemanywaystocrackanegg,eh,myfriend?Ifonetoolfailsthen
wemusttryanother.”Logenwasnolongerentirelysurewhattheyweretalking
about,buthewastootiredtoask.
“Yes, indeed,” murmured the First of the Magi. “There are many ways to
crackanegg.Speakingofwhich,youlookhungry.”
Logen’s mouth flooded with spit at the very mention of food. “Yes,” he
mumbled.“Yes…Icouldeat.”
“Ofcourse.”Bayazclappedhimwarmlyontheshoulder.“Andthenperhapsa
bath?Notthatweareoffendedofcourse,butIfindthatthereisnothingmore
soothingthanhotwaterafteralongwalk,andyou,Isuspect,havehadavery
longwalkindeed.Comewithme,MasterNinefingers,you’resafehere.”
Food.Bath.Safety. Logenhadto stophimselffrom weepingashe followed
theoldmanintothelibrary.
TheGoodMan
Itwasa hot, hot dayoutside,and the sun shonebrightlythroughthe many-
panedwindows,castingcriss-crosspatternsonthewoodenflooroftheaudience
chamber. It was mid-afternoon,andthe room was soupy warmandstuffy as a
kitchen.
FortisdanHoff,theLordChamberlain,wasred-facedandsweatyinhisfur-
trimmed robes of state, and had been in an increasingly filthy mood all
afternoon. Harlen Morrow, his Under-Secretary for Audiences, looked even
more uncomfortable, but then he had his terror of Hoff to contend with, in
additiontotheheat.Bothmenseemedgreatlydistressedintheirownways,but
atleasttheygottositdown.
MajorWestwassweatingsteadilyintohisembroidereddressuniform.Hehad
been standing in the same position, hands behind his back, teeth gritted, for
nearly two hours while Lord Hoff sulked and grumbled and bellowed his way
throughtheapplicantsandanyoneelseinview.Westferventlywished,andnot
forthefirsttimethatafternoon,thathewaslyingunderatreeinthepark,witha
strongdrink.Orperhapsunderaglacier,entombedwithintheice.Anywherebut
here.
Standing guard on these horrible audiences was hardly one of West’s more
pleasantduties,butitcouldhavebeenworse.Youhadtospareathoughtforthe
eightsoldiersstoodaroundthewalls:theywereinfullarmour.Westwaswaiting
foroneofthemtopassoutandcrashtothefloorwithasoundlikeacupboard
fullofsaucepans,nodoubttothegreatdisgustoftheLordChamberlain,butso
fartheywereallsomehowstayingupright.
“Why is this damned room always the wrong temperature?” Hoff was
demandingtoknow,asiftheheatwasaninsultdirectedsolelyathim.“It’stoo
hothalftheyear,toocoldtheotherhalf!There’snoairinhere,noairatall!Why
don’tthesewindowsopen?Whycan’twehaveabiggerroom?”
“Er…”mumbledtheharassedUnder-Secretary,pushinghisspectaclesuphis
sweaty nose, “requests for audiences have always been held here, my Lord
Chamberlain.”Hepausedunderthefearsomegazeofhissuperior.“Er…itis…
traditional?”
“I know that, you dolt!” thundered Hoff, face crimson with heat and fury.
“Whoaskedforyourdamnfoolofanopinionanyway?”
“Yes,thatistosay,no,”stutteredMorrow,“thatistosay,quiteso,myLord.”
Hoffshookhisheadwithamightyfrown,staringaroundtheroominsearchof
somethingelsetodispleasehim.“Howmanymoremustweenduretoday?”
“Er…fourmore,yourGrace.”
“Damnit!”thunderedtheChamberlain,shiftinginhishugechairandflapping
his fur-trimmed collar to let some air in. “This is intolerable!” West found
himselfinsilentagreement.Hoffsnatchedupasilvergobletfromthetableand
tookagreatslurpofwine.Hewasagreatonefordrinking,indeedhehadbeen
drinkingallafternoon.Ithadnotimprovedhistemper.“Who’sthenextfool?”he
demanded.
“Er…”Morrow squintedat alarge documentthrough hisspectacles,tracing
acrossthecrabbywritingwithaninkyfinger.“GoodmanHeathisnext,afarmer
from—”
“A farmer? A farmer did you say? So we must sit in this ridiculous heat,
listeningtosomedamncommonermoanonabouthowtheweatherhasaffected
hissheep?”
“Well, my Lord,” muttered Morrow, “it does seem as though, er, Goodman
Heathhas,er,alegitimategrievanceagainsthis,er,landlord,and—”
“Damn it all! I am sick to my stomach of other people’s grievances!” The
LordChamberlaintookanotherswallowofwine.“Showtheidiotin!”
ThedoorswereopenedandGoodmanHeathwasallowedintotheirpresence.
Tounderlinethebalanceofpowerwithintheroom,theLordChamberlain’stable
wasraiseduponahighdais,sothatevenstandingthepoormanhadtolookup
at them. An honest face, but very gaunt. He held a battered hat before him in
tremblinghands.Westshruggedhisshouldersindiscomfortasadropofsweat
randownhisback.
“YouareGoodmanHeath,correct?”
“Yes,myLord,”mumbledthepeasantinabroadaccent,“from—”
Hoff cut him off with consummate rudeness. “And you come before us
seekinganaudiencewithhisAugustMajesty,theHighKingoftheUnion?”
Goodman Heath licked his lips. West wondered how far he had come to be
madeafoolof.Averylongway,mostlikely.“Myfamilyhavebeenputoffour
land.Thelandlordsaidwehadnotbeenpayingtherentbut—”
The Lord Chamberlain waved a hand. “Plainly this is a matter for the
Commission for Land and Agriculture. His August Majesty the King is
concerned with the welfare of all his subjects, no matter how mean,” West
almost winced at this slight, “but he cannot be expected to give personal
attentiontoeverytriflingthing.Histimeisvaluable,andsoismine.Goodday.”
Andthatwasit.TwoofthesoldierspulledthedoubledoorsopenforGoodman
Heathtoleave.
Thepeasant’sfacehadgoneverypale,hisknuckleswringingatthebrimof
his hat. “Good my Lord,” he stammered, “I’ve already been to the
Commission…”
Hoff looked up sharply, making the farmer stammer to a halt. “Good day, I
said!”
The peasant’s shoulders slumped. He took a last look around the room.
Morrowwasexaminingsomethingonthefarwallwithgreatinterestandrefused
tomeethiseye.TheLordChamberlainstaredbackathimangrily,infuriatedby
thisunforgivablewasteofhistime.Westfeltsicktobeapartofit.Heathturned
andshuffledaway,headbowed.Thedoorsswungshut.
Hoffbashedhisfistonthetable.“Didyouseethat?”Hestaredroundfiercely
atthesweatingassembly.“Thesheer gallofthe man!Didyou seethat,Major
West?”
“Yes, my Lord Chamberlain, I saw it all,” said West stiffly. “It was a
disgrace.”
Fortunately,Hoffdid not takehiswhole meaning. “A disgrace, MajorWest,
youarequiteright!Whythehellisitthatallthepromisingyoungmengointo
thearmy?Iwanttoknowwhoisresponsibleforlettingthesebeggarsinhere!”
HeglaredattheUnder-Secretary,whoswallowedandstaredathisdocuments.
“What’snext?”
“Er,” mumbled Morrow, “Coster dan Kault, Magister of the Guild of
Mercers.”
“I know who he is, damn it!” snapped Hoff, wiping a fresh sheen of sweat
fromhisface.“Ifitisn’tthedamnpeasantsit’sthedamnmerchants!”heroared
at the soldiers by the door, his voice easily loud enough to be heard in the
corridoroutside.“Showthegrubbingoldswindlerin,then!”
MagisterKaultcouldhardlyhavepresentedamoredifferentappearancefrom
theprevioussupplicant.Hewasabig,plumpman,withafaceassoftashiseyes
were hard. His purple vesture of office was embroidered with yards of golden
thread, so ostentatious that the Emperor of Gurkhul himself might have been
embarrassedtowearit.HewasaccompaniedbyapairofseniorMercers,their
own attire scarcely less magnificent. West wondered if Goodman Heath could
earnenoughintenyearstopayforoneofthosegowns.Hedecidednot,evenif
hehadn’tbeenthrownoffhisland.
“My Lord Chamberlain,” intoned Kault with an elaborate bow. Hoff
acknowledgedtheheadoftheGuildofMercersasfaintlyashumanlypossible,
witharaisedeyebrowandanalmostimperceptibletwistofthelip.Kaultwaited
for a greeting which he felt more befitting of his station, but none was
forthcoming. He noisily cleared his throat. “I have come to seek an audience
withhisAugustMajesty—”
TheLordChamberlainsnorted.“Thepurposeofthissessionistodecidewho
isworthyofhisMajesty’sattention.Ifyouaren’tseekinganaudiencewithhim
you have blundered into the wrong room.” It was already clear that this
interview would be every bit as unsuccessful as the last. There was a kind of
horriblejusticetoit,Westsupposed.Thegreatandthesmallweretreatedexactly
alike.
Magister Kault’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued. “The honourable
Guild of Mercers, of whom I am the humble representative…” Hoff slurped
wine noisily and Kault was obliged to pause for a moment. “…have been the
victimsofamostmaliciousandmischievousattack—”
“Fill this up, would you?” yelled the Lord Chamberlain, waving his empty
gobletatMorrow.TheUnder-Secretaryslippedeagerlyfromhischairandseized
thedecanter.Kaultwasforcedtowait,teethgritted,whilethewinegurgledout.
“Continue!”blusteredHoff,wavinghishand,“wedon’thaveallday!”
“Amostmaliciousandunder-handedattack—”
TheLordChamberlainsquinteddown.“Anattackyousay?Acommonassault
isamatterfortheCityWatch!”
MagisterKaultgrimaced.Heandhistwocompanionswerealreadystartingto
sweat.“Notanattackofthatvariety,myLordChamberlain,butaninsidiousand
underhanded assault, designed to discredit the shining reputation of our Guild,
andtodamageourbusinessinterestsintheFreeCitiesofStyria,andacrossthe
Union. An attack perpetrated by certain deceitful elements of his Majesty’s
Inquisition,and—”
“I have heard enough!” The Lord Chamberlain jerked up his big hand for
silence.“Ifthisisamatteroftrade,thenitshouldbehandledbyHisMajesty’s
CommissionforTradeandCommerce.”Hoffspokeslowlyandprecisely,inthe
mannerofaschool-masteraddressinghismostdisappointingpupil.“Ifthisisa
matter of law, then it should be handled by the department of High Justice
Marovia.If itisa matterofthe internalworkingsof hisMajesty’s Inquisition,
thenyoumustarrangeanappointmentwithArchLectorSult.Inanycase,itis
hardlyamatterfortheattentionofhisAugustMajesty.”
TheheadoftheMercer’sGuildopenedhismouthbuttheLordChamberlain
spoke over him, voice louder than ever. “Your King employs a Commission,
selectsaHighJustice,andappointsanArchLector,sothatheneednotdealwith
everytrifling issuehimself!Incidentally, that isalso why hegrantslicences to
certainmerchantguilds,andnottolinethepockets…”andhisliptwistedintoan
unpleasant sneer “…of the trading class! Good day.” And the doors were
opened.
Kault’s face had turned pale with anger at that last comment. “You may
depend upon it, Lord Chamberlain,” he said coldly, “that we will seek redress
elsewhere,andwiththeverygreatestofpersistence.”
Hoffglaredbackathimforaverylongwhile.“Seekitwhereveryoulike,”he
growled, “and with as much persistence as you please. But not here. Good…
day!”Ifyoucouldhavestabbedsomeoneinthefacewiththephrase“goodday”,
theheadoftheGuildofMercerswouldhavelaindeadonthefloor.
Kault blinked a couple of times, then turned angrily and strode out with as
muchdignityashecouldmuster.Histwolackeysfollowedcloseonhisheels,
theirfabulousgownsflappingbehindthem.Thedoorswerepushedshut.
Hoffsmashedthetableonceagainwithhisfist.“Anoutrage!”hespluttered.
“Those arrogant swine! Do they seriously think they can flout the King’s law
andstillseektheKing’shelpwhenthingsturnsour?”
“Well,no,”saidMorrow,“ofcourse…”
TheLordChamberlainignoredhisUnder-SecretaryandturnedtoWestwitha
sneering smile. “Still, I fancy I could see the vultures circling around them,
despitethelowceiling,eh,MajorWest?”
“Indeed, my Lord Chamberlain,” mumbled West, thoroughly uncomfortable
and wishing this torture would end. Then he could get back to his sister. His
heartsank.Shewasevenmoreofahandfulthanheremembered.Shewasclever
alright,butheworriedthatshemightbetoocleverforherowngood.Ifonlyshe
would just marry some honest man and be happy. His position here was
precariousenough,withouthermakingaspectacleofherself.
“Vultures, vultures,” Hoff was murmuring to himself. “Nasty-looking birds,
buttheyhavetheiruses.What’snext?”
The sweating Under-Secretary looked even more uncomfortable than before
ashefumbledfortherightwords.“Wehaveapartyof…diplomats?”
The Lord Chamberlain paused, goblet halfway to his mouth. “Diplomats?
Fromwhom?”
“Er…fromthisso-calledKingoftheNorthmen,Bethod.”
Hoff burst out laughing. “Diplomats?” he cackled, mopping his face on his
sleeve.“Savages,youmean!”
The Under-Secretary chuckled unconvincingly. “Ah yes, my Lord, ha, ha!
Savages,ofcourse!”
“But dangerous, eh, Morrow?” snapped the Lord Chamberlain, his good
humourevaporatinginstantly.TheUnder-Secretary’scacklinggurgledtoahalt.
“Verydangerous.Wemustbecareful.Showthemin!”
Therewerefourofthem.Thetwosmallestweregreatbig,fierce-lookingmen,
scarredandbearded,cladinheavybatteredarmour.Theyhadbeendisarmedat
the gate of the Agriont, of course, but there was still a sense of danger about
them,andWesthadthefeelingtheywouldhavegivenupalotofbig,well-worn
weapons. These were the sort of men who were crowded on the borders of
Angland,hungryforwar,notfarfromWest’shome.
Withthemcameanolderman,alsoinpittedarmour,andwithlonghairanda
great white beard. There was a livid scar across his face and through his eye,
whichwasblindwhite.Hehadabroadsmileonhislipsthough,andhispleasant
demeanourwasgreatlyatoddswiththatofhistwodourcompanions,andwith
thefourthman,whocamebehind.
Hehadtostooptogetunderthelintel,whichwasagoodsevenfeetabovethe
floor.Hewasswathedandhoodedinaroughbrowncloak,featuresinvisible.As
he straightened up, towering over everyone else, the room began to seem
absurdly cramped. His sheer bulk was intimidating, but there was something
more, something that seemed to come off him in sickly waves. The soldiers
aroundthewallsfeltit,andtheyshifteduncomfortably.TheUnder-Secretaryfor
Audiencesfeltit,sweatingandtwitchingandfussingwithhisdocuments.Major
Westcertainlyfeltit.Hisskinhadgonecolddespitetheheat,andhecouldfeel
everyhaironhisbodystandingupunderhisdampuniform.
Only Hoff seemed unaffected. He looked the four Northmen up and down
withadeepfrownonhisface,nomoreimpressedwiththehoodedgiantthanhe
had been with Goodman Heath. “So you are messengers from Bethod.” He
rolled the words around in his mouth, then spat them out, “The King of the
Northmen.”
“We are,” said the smiling old man, bowing with great reverence. “I am
White-EyeHansul.”Hisvoicewasrich,roundandpleasant,withoutanyaccent,
notatallwhatWesthadbeenexpecting.
“And you are Bethod’s emissary?” asked Hoff casually, taking another
swallowof wine from hisgoblet.Forthe first timeeverWestwaspleasedthe
Lord Chamberlain was in the room with him, but then he glanced up at the
hoodedmanandthefeelingofuneasereturned.
“Ohno,”saidWhite-Eye,“Iamheremerelyastranslator.Thisistheemissary
oftheKingoftheNorthmen,”andhisgoodeyeflickednervouslyuptothedark
figureinthecloak,asthoughevenhewasafraid.“Fenris.”Hestretchedoutthe
“s”ontheendofthenamesothatithissedintheair.“FenristheFeared.”
Anapt nameindeed.Major West thought backto songs hehad heard inhis
childhood, stories of bloodthirsty giants in the mountains of the distant north.
Theroomwassilentforamoment.
“Humph,”saidtheLordChamberlain,unmoved.“Andyouseekanaudience
withhisAugustMajesty,theHighKingoftheUnion?”
“We do indeed, my Lord Chamberlain,” said the old warrior. “Our master,
Bethod,greatlyregretsthehostilitybetweenourtwonations.Hewishesonlyto
beonthebestoftermswithhissouthernneighbours.Webringanofferofpeace
frommyKingtoyours,andagifttoshowourgoodfaith.Nothingmore.”
“Well,well,”saidHoff,sittingbackinhishighchairwithabroadsmile.“A
gracious request, graciously made. You may see the King in Open Council
tomorrow,andpresentyouroffer,andyourgift,beforetheforemostpeersofthe
realm.”
White-Eyebowed respectfully. “Youaremost kind, my Lord Chamberlain.”
Heturnedforthedoor,followedbythetwodour warriors.The cloakedfigure
lingered for a moment, then he too slowly turned and stooped through the
doorway.Itwasn’tuntilthedoorswereshutthatWestcouldbreatheeasilyagain.
He shook his head and shrugged his sweaty shoulders. Songs about giants
indeed. A great big man in a cloak was all. But looking again, that doorway
reallywasveryhigh…
“There, you see, Master Morrow?” Hoff looked intensely pleased with
himself. “Hardly the savages you led me to expect! I feel we are close to a
resolutionofournorthernproblems,don’tyou?”
TheUnder-Secretarydidnotlookintheleastconvinced.“Er…yes,myLord,
ofcourse.”
“Yes indeed. A lot of fuss over nothing. A lot of pessimistic, defeatist
nonsensefromourjumpycitizensupnorth,eh?War?Bah!”Hoffwhackedhis
handonthe tableagain,makingwineslopoutofhisgobletandspatteron the
wood. “These Northmen wouldn’t dare! Why, next thing you know they’ll be
petitioningusformembershipoftheUnion!YouseeifI’mnotright,eh,Major
West?”
“Er…”
“Good! Excellent! We’ve got something done today at least! One more and
wecangetoutofthisdamnfurnace!Whodowehave,Morrow?”
TheUnder-Secretaryfrowned andpushedhis glasses uphisnose. “Er… we
haveoneYoruSulfur,”hewrestledwiththeunfamiliarname.
“Wehaveawho?”
“Er…Sulfir,orSulfor,orsomething.”
“Neverheardofhim,”gruntedtheLordChamberlain,“whatmannerofaman
ishe?Somekindofasoutherner?Notanotherpeasant,please!”
TheUnder-Secretaryexaminedhisnotes,andswallowed.“Anemissary?”
“Yes,yes,butfromwhom?”
Morrow was positively cringing, like a child expecting a slap. “From the
GreatOrderofMagi!”heblurtedout.
Therewasamomentofstunnedsilence.West’seyebrowswentupandhisjaw
came open, and he guessed that the same was happening, unseen, behind the
visorsofthesoldiers.Hewincedinstinctivelyasheanticipatedtheresponseof
the Lord Chamberlain, but Hoff surprised them all by bursting into peals of
laughter.“Excellent!Atlastsomeentertainment.It’sbeenyearssincewehada
Magushere!Showinthewizard!Wemustn’tkeephimwaiting!”
YoruSulfurwassomethingofadisappointment.Hehadsimple,travel-stained
clothes,wasscarcelybetterdressedthanGoodmanHeathhadbeen,infact.His
staffwasnotshodwithgold,hadnolumpofshiningcrystalontheend.Hiseye
didnotflashwithamysteriousfire.Helookedafairlyordinarysortofamanin
hismiddlethirties, slightly tired, as thoughafteralongjourney, but otherwise
wellathiseasebeforetheLordChamberlain.
“A good day to you, gentlemen,” he said, leaning on his staff. West was
havingsomedifficultyworkingoutwherehewasfrom.NottheUnion,because
hisskinwastoodark,andnotGurkhulorthefarsouth,becausehisskinwastoo
light.NotfromtheNorthorfromStyria.Furtherthen,butwhere?NowthatWest
lookedathimmorecloselyhenoticedthathiseyesweredifferentcolours:one
blue,onegreen.
“Andagooddaytoyou,sir,”saidHoff,smilingasthoughhereallymeantit.
“My door is forever open to the Great Order of Magi. Tell me, do I have the
pleasureofaddressinggreatBayazhimself?”
Sulfur looked puzzled. “No, was I wrongly announced? I am Yoru Sulfur.
MasterBayazisabaldgentleman.”Hepushedahandthroughhisownheadof
curlybrownhair.“Thereisastatueofhimoutsideintheavenue.ButIdidhave
the honour to study under him for several years. He is a most powerful and
knowledgeablemaster.”
“Ofcourse!Ofcourseheis!Andhowmaywebeofservice?”
YoruSulfurclearedhisthroat,asthoughtotellastory.“OnthedeathofKing
HarodtheGreat,Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi,lefttheUnion.Buthesworean
oathtoreturn.”
“Yes, yes, that’s true,” chuckled Hoff. “Very true, every school-child knows
it.”
“Andhepronouncedthat,whenhereturned,hiscomingwouldbeheraldedby
another.”
“True,also.”
“Well,”saidSulfur,smilingbroadly,“hereIam.”
The Lord Chamberlain roared with laughter. “Here you are!” he shouted,
thumpingthetable.HarlenMorrowallowedhimselfalittlechuckle,butshutup
immediatelyasHoffssmilebegantofade.
“During my tenure as Lord Chamberlain, I have had three members of the
GreatOrderofMagiapplytomeforaudienceswiththeKing.Twoweremost
clearly insane, and one was an exceptionally courageous swindler.” He leaned
forward, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers before him.
“Tellme,MasterSulfur,whichkindofMagusareyou?”
“Iamneitherofthose.”
“Isee.Thenyouwillhavedocuments.”
“Ofcourse.”Sulfurreachedintohiscoatandbroughtoutasmallletter,closed
withawhiteseal,asinglestrangesymbolstampedintoit.Heplaceditcarelessly
onthetablebeforetheLordChamberlain.
Hofffrowned.Hepickedupthedocumentandturneditoverinhishands.He
examinedthesealcarefully,thenhedabbedhisfacewithhissleeve,brokethe
wax,unfoldedthethickpaperandbegantoread.
YoruSulfurshowednosignofnerves.Hedidn’tappeartroubledbytheheat.
Hestrolledaroundtheroom,henoddedtothearmouredsoldiers,hedidn’tseem
upsetbytheirlackofresponse.HeturnedsuddenlytoWest.“It’sterriblyhotin
here,isn’tit?It’sawonderthesepoorfellowsdon’tpassout,andcrashtothe
floorwithasoundlikeacupboardfullofsaucepans.”Westblinked.Hehadbeen
thinkingtheverysamething.
TheLordChamberlainputtheletterdowncarefullyonthetable,nolongerin
the least amused. “It occurs to me that the Open Council would be the wrong
placetodiscussthismatter.”
“Iagree.IwashopingforaprivateaudiencewithLordChancellorFeekt.”
“I am afraid that will not be possible.” Hoff licked his lips. “Lord Feekt is
dead.”
Sulfurfrowned.“Thatismostunfortunate.”
“Indeed,indeed.Weallfeelhislossmostkeenly.PerhapsIandcertainother
membersoftheClosedCouncilcanassistyou.”
Sulfurbowedhishead.“Iamguidedbyyou,myLordChamberlain.”
“Iwilltrytoarrangesomethingforlaterthisevening.Untilthenwewillfind
yousomelodgingswithintheAgriont…suitableforyourstation.”Hesignalled
totheguards,andthedoorswereopened.
“Thankyousomuch,LordHoff.MasterMorrow.MajorWest.”Sulfurnodded
tothemgraciously,eachinturn,andthenturnedandleft.Thedoorswereclosed
oncemore,leavingWestwonderinghowthemanhadknownhisname.
HoffturnedtohisUnder-SecretaryforAudiences.“GoimmediatelytoArch
Lector Sult, and tell him we must meet at once. Then fetch High Justice
Marovia,andLordMarshalVaruz. Tell them it is a matter of the very highest
importance,andnotawordofthistoanyonebeyondthosethree.”Heshookhis
fingerinMorrow’ssweatyface.“Notaword!”
The Under-Secretary stared back, spectacles askew. “Now!” roared Hoff.
Morrow leapt to his feet, stumbled on the hem of his gown, then hurried out
throughasidedoor.Westswallowed,hismouthverydry.
Hoffstaredlongandhardateachmanintheroom.“Asfortherestofyou,not
awordto anyoneaboutany ofthis,ortheconsequencesforallofyouwillbe
most severe! Now out, everyone out!” The soldiers clanked from the room
immediately.Westneedednofurtherencouragementandhehurriedafterthem,
leavingthebroodingLordChamberlainaloneinhishighchair.
West’s thoughts were dark and confused as he pulled the door shut behind
him.FragmentsofoldstoriesoftheMagi,fearsaboutwarintheNorth,images
of a hooded giant, towering up near the ceiling. There had been some strange
andsomesinistervisitorstotheAgriontthatday,andhefeltquiteweigheddown
by worries. He tried to shrug them off, told himself it was all foolishness, but
thenallhecouldthinkofwashissister,cavortingabouttheAgriontlikeafool.
Hegroanedtohimself.ShewasprobablywithLutharrightnow.Whythehell
hadheintroducedthetwoofthem?Forsomereasonhehadbeenexpectingthe
same awkward, sickly, sharp-tongued girl he remembered from years ago. He
hadgotquiteashock when this woman had turned up at his quarters.Hehad
barely recognised her. Undoubtedly a woman, and a fine-looking one too.
Meanwhile, Luthar was arrogant and rich and handsome and had all the self-
restraint of a six-year old. He knew they had seen each other since, and more
than once. Just as friends, of course. Ardee had no other friends here. Just
friends.
“Shit!”hecursed.Itwaslikeputtingacatbythecreamandtrustingitnotto
stick its tongue in. Why the hell hadn’t he thought it through? It was a damn
disaster in the making! But what could he do about it now? He stared off
miserablydownthehallway.
There’s nothing like seeing another’s misery to make you forget your own,
and Goodman Heath was a sorry sight indeed. He was sitting alone on a long
bench,facedeathlypale,staringoffintospace.Hemusthavebeensittingthere
all this time, while the Mercers and the Northmen and the Magus came and
went, waiting for nothing but with nowhere left to go. West glanced up and
downthe hallway. Therewas no oneelsenearby. Heathwasoblivious tohim,
mouthopen,eyesglassy,batteredhatforgottenonhisknees.
Westcouldn’tsimplyleavethemanlikethis,hedidn’thaveitinhim.
“Goodman Heath,” he said as he approached, and the peasant looked up at
him,surprised.Hefumbledforhishatandmadetorise,mutteringapologies.
“No,please,don’tgetup.”Westsatdownonthebench.Hestaredathisfeet,
unable to look the man in the eye. There was an awkward silence. “I have a
friend who sits on the Commission for Land and Agriculture. There might be
something he can do for you…” He trailed off, embarrassed, squinting up the
corridor.
Thefarmergaveasadsmile.“I’dberightgratefulforanythingyoucoulddo.”
“Yes,yes,ofcourse,I’lldowhatIcan.”Itwoulddonogoodwhatsoever,and
theybothknewit.Westgrimacedandbithislip.“You’dbettertakethis,”andhe
pressedhispurseintothepeasant’slimp,callousedfingers.Heathlookedathim,
mouthslightlyopen.Westgaveaquick,awkwardsmilethengottohisfeet.He
wasverykeentobeoff.
“Sir!”calledGoodmanHeathafterhim,butWestwasalreadyhurryingdown
thecorridor,andhedidn’tlookback.
OntheList
WhydoIdothis?
TheoutlineofVillemdanRobb’stownhousewascutoutinblackagainstthe
clearnight sky. It wasanunremarkable building,atwo-storey-dwelling witha
low wall and a gate in front, just like a hundred others in this street. Our old
friend Rews used to live in a palatial great villa near the market. Robb really
should have asked him for some more ambitious bribes. Still. Lucky for us he
didn’t. Elsewhere in the city thefashionableavenueswould be brightly lit and
busy with drunken revellers right through until dawn. But this secluded side
streetwasfarfromthebrightlightsandthepryingeyes.
Wecanworkundisturbed.
Roundthe sideofthe building,on the upperfloor, alampwas burningina
narrow window. Good. Our friend is at home. But still awake—we must tread
gently.HeturnedtoPracticalFrostandpointeddownthesideofthehouse.The
albinonoddedandslippedawaysilentlyacrossthestreet.
Gloktawaitedforhimtoreachthewallanddisappearintotheshadowsbeside
thebuilding,thenheturnedtoSeverardandpointedatthefrontdoor.Theeyes
ofthelankyPracticalsmiledathimforamoment,thenhescuttledquicklyaway,
stayinglow,rolledoverthelowwallanddroppedwithoutasoundontotheother
side.
Perfectsofar,butnowImustmove.Gloktawonderedwhyhehadcome.Frost
andSeverardweremorethancapableofdealingwithRobbbythemselves,and
hewouldonlyslowthemdown.Imightevenfallonmyarseandalerttheidiot
to our presence. So why did I come? But Glokta knew why. The feeling of
excitementwasalreadybuildinginhisthroat.Itfeltalmostlikebeingalive.
Hehadmuffledtheendofhiscanewithabitofrag,sohewasabletolimpto
the wall, ever so delicately, without making too much noise. By that time
Severardhadswungthegateopen,holdingthehingewithoneglovedhandso
that it didn’t make a noise. Nice and neat. That little wall might as well be a
hundredfeethighforallmychancesofgettingoverit.
Severardwaskneelingonthestepagainstthefrontdoor,pickingthelock.His
earwasclosetothewood,hiseyessquintingwithconcentration,glovedhands
movingdeftly.Glokta’sheartwasbeatingfast,hisskinpricklywithtension.Ah,
thethrillofthehunt.
Therewasasoftclick,thenanother.Severardslippedhisglitteringpicksinto
apocket,thenreachedoutandslowly,carefullyturnedthedoorknob.Thedoor
swungsilentlyopen.Whatausefulfellowheis.WithouthimandFrostIamjust
acripple.Theyaremyhands,myarms,mylegs.ButIamtheirbrains.Severard
slippedinsideandGloktafollowedhim,wincingwithpaineverytimeheputhis
weightonhisleftleg.
Thehallwaywasdark,buttherewasashaftoflightspillingdownthestairs
from above and the banisters cast strange, distorted shadows on the wooden
floor. Glokta pointed up the steps, and Severard nodded and began to tiptoe
towardthem,keepinghisfeetclosetothewall.Itseemedtotakehimanageto
getthere.
Thethirdstepmadeaquietcreakingsoundasheputhisweightonit.Glokta
winced, Severard froze in place. They waited, still as statues. There was no
sound from upstairs. Glokta began to breathe again. Severard moved ever so
slowly upwards, step by gentle step. As he got towards the top he peered
cautiouslyroundthecorner,backpressedagainstthewall,thenhetookthelast
stepanddisappearedfromviewwithoutasound.
Practical Frost emerged from the shadows at the far end of the corridor.
Gloktaraisedaneyebrowathimbutheshookhishead.Nobodydownstairs.He
turnedtothefrontdoorandstartedtocloseit,eversogently.Onlywhenitwas
shut did he slowly, slowly release the doorknob, so the latch slid silently into
place.
“You’llwanttoseethis.”
Gloktagaveastartatthesuddensound,turningroundquicklyandcausinga
joltofpaintoshootthroughhisback.Severardwasstanding,handsonhips,at
the head of the stairs. He turned and made off towards the light, and Frost
boundedupthestepsafterhim,nolongermakinganypretenceatstealth.
Whycannooneeverstayonthegroundfloor?Alwaysupstairs.Atleasthe
didn’t have to try to be quiet as he struggled up the steps after his Practicals,
right foot creaking, left foot scraping on the boards. Bright lamplight was
flooding out into the upstairs corridor from an open door at the far end, and
Glokta limped toward it. He paused as he crossed the threshold, catching his
breathaftertheclimb.
Ohdearme,whatamess.Abigbookcasehadbeentornawayfromthewall,
andbookswerescattered,openandclosed,allaboutthefloor.Aglassofwine
had been knocked over on the desk, making sodden red rags of the crumpled
papersstrewnacrossit.Thebedwasindisarray,thecoverspulledhalfoff,the
pillowsandthemattressslashedandspillingfeathers.Awardrobehaditsdoors
open, one of them dangling half off. A few tattered garments were hanging
inside,butmostwerelyingtorninaheapbelow.
Ahandsomeyoungmanlayonhisbackunderthewindow,staringup,pale-
facedandopenmouthedattheceiling.Itwouldhavebeenanunderstatementto
saythathisthroathadbeencut.Ithadbeenhackedsosavagelythathisheadwas
only just still attached. There was blood splattered everywhere, on the torn
clothes,ontheslashedmattress,alloverthebodyitself.Therewereacoupleof
smeared,bloodypalm-printsonthewall,agreatpoolofbloodacrossagoodpart
of the floor, still wet. He was killed tonight. Perhaps only a few hours ago.
Perhapsonlyafewminutes.
“Idon’tthinkhe’llbeansweringourquestions,”saidSeverard.
“No.”Glokta’seyesdriftedoverthewreckage.“Ithinkhemightbedead.But
howdidithappen?”
Frostfixedhimwithapinkeyeandraisedawhiteeyebrow.“Poithon?”
Severardsplutteredwithshrilllaughterunderhismask.EvenGloktaallowed
himselfachuckle.“Clearly.Buthowdidourpoisongetin?”
“Openwi’ow,”mumbledFrost,pointingatthefloor.
Gloktalimpedintotheroom,carefulnottolethisfeetorhiscanetouchthe
stickymessofbloodandfeathers.“So,ourpoisonsawthelampburning,justas
we did. He entered via the downstairs window. He climbed silently up the
stairs.” Glokta turned the corpse’s hands over with the tip of his cane. A few
specksofbloodfromtheneck,butnodamagetotheknucklesorthefingers.He
didnotstruggle.Hewastakenbysurprise.Hecranedforwardandpeeredatthe
gapingwound.
“Asingle,powerfulcut.Probablywithaknife.”
“AndVillemdanRobbhassprungamostseriousleak,”saidSeverard.
“Andweareshortoneinformant,”musedGlokta.Therehadbeennobloodin
thecorridor.Ourmantookpainsnottogethisfeetwetwhilesearchingtheroom,
howevermessyitmaylook.Hewasnotangryorafraid.Itwasjustajob.
“Thekillerwasaprofessional,”murmuredGlokta,“hecameherewithmurder
in mind. Then perhaps he made this little effort to give the appearance of a
burglary, who can say? Either way, the Arch Lector wont be satisfied with a
corpse.”HelookedupathistwoPracticals.“Who’snextonthelist?”
This time there had been a struggle, without a doubt. If a onesided one.
SolimoScandiwassprawledonhisside,facingthewall,asthoughembarrassed
by the state of his slashed and tattered nightshirt. There were deep cuts in his
forearms. Where he struggled vainly to ward off the blade. He had crawled
acrossthefloor,leavingabloodytrailacrossthehighlypolishedwood.Where
hestruggledvainlytogetaway.Hehadfailed.Thefourgapingknifewoundsin
hisbackhadbeentheendofhim.
Glokta felt his face twitching as he looked down at the bloody corpse. One
bodymightjustbeacoincidence.Twomakeaconspiracy.His eyelidfluttered.
Whoeverdidthisknewwewerecoming,andwhen,andpreciselywhofor.They
areonestepaheadofus.Morethanlikely,ourlistofaccompliceshasalready
becomealistofcorpses.TherewasacreakingsoundbehindGloktaandhishead
whipped round, sending shooting pains down his stiff neck. Nothing but the
openwindowswinginginthebreeze.Calm,now.Calm,andthinkitout.
“It would seem the honourable Guild of Mercers have been doing a little
housekeeping.”
“Howcouldtheyknow?”mutteredSeverard.
Howindeed?“TheymusthaveseenRews’list,orbeentoldwhowasonit.”
And that means… Glokta licked at his empty gums. “Someone inside the
Inquisitionhasbeentalking.”
Foronce,Severard’seyeswerenotsmiling.“Iftheyknowwho’sonthelist,
theyknowwhowroteit.Theyknowwhoweare.”
Threemorenamesonthelist,perhaps?Downatthebottom?Gloktagrinned.
Howveryexciting.“Youscared?”
“I’mnothappy,I’lltellyouthat.”Henoddeddownatthecorpse.“Aknifein
thebackisn’tpartofmyplan.”
“Nor mine, Severard, believe me.” No indeed. If I die, I’ll never know who
betrayedus.
AndIwanttoknow.
Abright,cloudlessspringday,andtheparkwasbusywithfopsandidlersof
every variety. Glokta sat very still on his bench, in the merciful shade of a
spreadingtree, and staredoutat the shimmeringgreenery,the sparkling water,
the happy, the drunken, the colourful revellers. There were people wedged
togetheronthebenchesaroundthelake,pairsand groupsscatteredaroundthe
grass,drinking andtalkingand basking inthe sun. Thereseemed no spacefor
anymore.
ButnoonecameandsatnexttoGlokta.Occasionallysomebodywouldhurry
up,hardlyabletobelievetheirluckinfindingsuchaspot,thentheywouldsee
himsittingthere.Theirfaceswouldfallandtheywouldswerveaway,orwalk
rightpastasthoughtheyhadnevermeanttosit.Idrivethemawayassurelyas
theplague,butperhapsthat’sjustaswell.Idon’tneedtheircompany.
Hewatchedagroupofyoungsoldiersrowingaboatonthelake.Oneofthem
stood up, wobbling around, holding forth with a bottle in his hand. The boat
rockedalarmingly,andhiscompanionsshoutedathimtogetdown.Vaguegales
of good-natured laughter came wafting through the air, delayed a little by the
distance. Children. How young they look. How innocent. And such was I, not
longago.Itseemsathousandyears,though.Longer.Itseemsadifferentworld.
“Glokta.”
Helookedup,shadinghiseyeswithhishand.ItwasArchLectorSult,arrived
atlast,atalldarkshapeagainstthebluesky.Gloktathoughthelookedalittle
moretired,morelined,moredrawnthanusualashestaredcoldlydown.
“This had better be interesting.” Sult flicked out the tails of his long white
coatandloweredhimselfgracefullyontothebench.“Thecommonersareupin
armsagainnearKeln.Someidiotofalandownerhangsafewpeasantsandnow
wehaveamesstodealwith!Howhardcanitbetomanageafieldfullofdirt
andacoupleoffarmers?Youdon’thavetotreatthemwell,justaslongasyou
don’thangthem!”Hismouthwasastraight,hardlineasheglaredoutacrossthe
lawns.“Thishadbetterbedamnedinteresting.”
ThenI’lltrynottodisappointyou.“VillemdanRobbisdead.”Asthoughto
addemphasistoGlokta’sstatement,thedrunkensoldierslippedandtoppledover
the side of the boat, splashing into the water. His friends’ screams of laughter
reachedGloktaamomentlater.“Hewasmurdered.”
“Huh. It happens. Pick up the next man on the list.” Sult got to his feet,
frowning.“Ididn’t think you’d need my approvalforeverylittlething. That’s
whyIpickedyouforthisjob.Justgetonwithit!”hesnappedasheturnedaway.
There’snoneed to rush, Arch Lector. That’sthetroublewith good legs, you
tendtorunaroundtoomuch.Ifyouhavetroublemoving,ontheotherhand,you
don’tmoveuntilyou damn well know it’stime. “The next man on the list also
sufferedamishap.”
Sultturnedback,oneeyebrowslightlyraised.“Hedid?”
“Theyalldid.”
TheArchLectorpursedhislips,satbackdownonthebench.“Allofthem?”
“Allofthem.”
“Hmm,” mused Sult. “That is interesting. The Mercers are cleaning up, are
they? I hardly expected such ruthlessness. Times have changed, alright, times
havecertainly…”Hetrailedoff,slowlystartingtofrown.“Youthinksomeone
gavethemRews’list,don’tyou?Youthinkoneofourshasbeentalking.That’s
whyyouaskedmetocomehere,isn’tit?”
DidyouthinkIwasjustavoidingthestairs?“Eachoneofthemkilled?Each
and every name on our list? The very night we go to arrest them? I am not a
greatbelieverincoincidences.”Areyou,ArchLector?
He was evidently not. His face had turned very grim. “Who saw the
confession?”
“Me,andmytwoPracticals,ofcourse.”
“Youhaveabsoluteconfidenceinthem?”
“Absolute.” There was a pause. The boat was drifting, rudderless, as the
soldiers scrambled about, oars sticking up in the air, the man in the water
splashingandlaughing,sprayingwateroverhisfriends.
“Theconfessionwasinmyofficeforsometime,”murmuredtheArchLector.
“Somemembersofmystaffcouldhaveseenit.Couldhave.”
“Youhaveabsoluteconfidenceinthem,yourEminence?”
SultstaredatGloktaforalong,icymoment.“Theywouldn’tdare.Theyknow
mebetterthanthat.”
“ThatleavesSuperiorKalyne,”saidGloktaquietly.
TheArchLector’slipshardlymovedashespoke.“Youmusttreadcarefully,
Inquisitor,verycarefully.Thegroundisnotatallsafewhereyouarewalking.
Foolsdo notbecome Superiorsof theInquisition,despiteappearances.Kalyne
hasmanyfriends,bothwithintheHouseofQuestionsandoutsideit.Powerful
friends.Anyaccusationagainsthimmustbebackedupbytheverystrongestof
proof.”Sultstoppedsuddenly,waitingforasmallgroupofladiestopassoutof
earshot. “The very strongest of proof,” he hissed, once they had moved away.
“Youmustfindmethisassassin.”
Easiersaidthandone.“Ofcourse,yourEminence,butmyinvestigationhas
reachedsomethingofadeadend.”
“Notquite.Westillhaveonecardlefttoplay.Rewshimself.”
Rews?“But,ArchLector,hewillbeinAnglandbynow.”Sweatingdowna
mineorsomesuch.Ifhehasevenlastedthislong.
“No.HeishereintheAgriont,underlockandkey.Ithoughtitbesttoholdon
tohim.”Gloktadidhisutmosttocontainhissurprise.Clever.Veryclever.Fools
donotbecomeArchLectorseither,itseems.“Rewswillbeyourbait.Iwillhave
mysecretarycarryamessagetoKalyne,lettinghimknowthatIhaverelented.
That I am prepared to let the Mercers continue to operate, but under tighter
control.ThatasagestureofgoodwillIhaveletRewsgo.IfKalyneisthesource
ofourleak,IdaresayhewilllettheMercersknowthatRewsisfree.Idaresay
they will send this assassin to punish him for his loose tongue. I daresay you
couldtakehimwhileheistrying.Ifthekillerdoesn’tcome,well,wemighthave
tolookforourtraitorelsewhere,andwehavelostnothing.”
“Anexcellentplan,yourEminence.”
Sult stared at him coldly. “Of course. You will need somewhere to operate,
somewhere far from the House of Questions. I will make the funds available,
haveRewsdeliveredtoyourPracticals,andletyouknowwhenKalynehasthe
information.Findmethisassassin,Glokta,andsqueezehim.Squeezehimuntil
thepipssqueak.”Theboatlurchedwildlyasthesoldierstriedtohaultheirwet
companion in, then it suddenly turned right over, dumping them all into the
water.
“I want names,” hissed Sult, glowering at the splashing soldiers, “I want
names, and evidence, and documents, and people who will stand up in Open
Council and point fingers.” He stood up smoothly from the bench. “Keep me
informed.”HestrodeofftowardstheHouseofQuestions,feetcrunchingonthe
gravel of the path, and Glokta watched him go. An excellent plan. I’m glad
you’reonmyside,ArchLector.Youareonmyside,aren’tyou?
The soldiers had succeeded in hauling the upended boat onto the bank and
were standing, dripping wet, shouting at one another, no longer so good-
humoured. One of the oars was still floating, abandoned in the water, drifting
gradually towards the point where the stream flowed from the lake. Soon it
wouldpass underthebridge andbecarried out,beneaththe greatwallsof the
Agriontandintothemoat.Gloktawatcheditturningslowlyroundinthewater.
Amistake.Oneshouldattendtothedetails.Itiseasytoforgetthelittlethings,
butwithouttheoar,theboatisuseless.
He let his gaze wander across some of the other faces in the park. His eye
alightedonahandsomepairsittingonabenchbythelake.Theyoungmanwas
speakingquietlytothegirl,asadandearnestexpressiononhisface.Shegotup
quickly,movingawayfromhimwithherhandsoverherface.Ah,thepainofthe
jilted lover. The loss, the anger, the shame. It seems as though you’ll never
recover. What poet was it who wrote there’s no pain worse than the pain of a
brokenheart?Sentimentalshit.HeshouldhavespentmoretimeintheEmperor’s
prisons. He smiled, opening his mouth and licking the empty gums where his
frontteethusedtobe.Brokenheartshealwithtime,butbrokenteethneverdo.
Gloktalookedattheyoungman.Hehadan expressionofslightamusement
on his face as he watched the weeping girl walk away. The young bastard. I
wonder if he’s broken as many hearts as I did, in my youth? It hardly seems
possiblenow.Ittakesmehalfanhourjusttopluckupthecouragetostand.The
onlywomenI’vemadecrylatelyhavebeenthewivesofthoseI’vehadexiledto
Angland—
“Sand.”
Gloktaturnedaround.“LordMarshalVaruz,whatanhonour.”
“Oh no, no,” said the old soldier, sitting down on the bench with the swift,
precisemovementsofthefencingmaster.“Youlookwell,”hesaid,butwithout
reallylooking.I look crippled, you mean. “How are you, my old friend?” I’m
crippled, you pompous old ass. And friend, is it? All those years since I came
back,andyouhaveneversoughtmeout,notonce.Isthatafriendship?
“Wellenough,thankyou,LordMarshal.”
Varuz shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “My latest student, Captain
Luthar…perhapsyouknowhim?”
“Weareacquainted.”
“Youshouldseehisforms.”Varuzshookhisheadsadly. “Hehasthetalent,
alright,thoughhewillneverbeinyourclass,Sand.”Idon’tknow.Ihopesome
dayhe’llbejustascrippledasIam.“Buthehasplentyoftalent,enoughtowin.
Onlyhe’swastingit.Throwingitaway.”Oh,thetragedyofit.IamsoupsetI
couldbesick.HadIeatenanythingthismorning.
“Heis lazy,Sand, andstubborn. Helackscourage.Helacksdedication.His
heartisjustnotinit,andtimeisrunningout.Iwaswondering,ifyouhavethe
timeofcourse,”VaruzlookedGloktaintheeyeforjustaninstant,“whetheryou
mightbeabletospeaktohimforme.”
Icanhardlywait!Lecturingthatwhiningasswouldbetherealisationofall
mydreams.Youarrogantolddolt,howdareyou?Youbuiltyourreputationon
mysuccesses,thenwhenIneededyourhelpyoucutmeoff.Andnowyoucome
tome,andseekmyhelp,andcallmefriend?
“Ofcourse,MarshalVaruz,Iwouldbegladtospeaktohim.Anythingforan
oldfriend.”
“Excellent, excellent! I’m sure you’ll make all the difference! I train him
everymorning,inthatcourtyardneartheHouseoftheMaker,whereIusedto
trainyou…”TheoldMarshaltrailedoffawkwardly.
“Iwillcomeassoonasmydutiespermit.”
“Ofcourse,yourduties…”Varuzwasalreadygettingup,evidentlykeentobe
onhisway.Gloktaheldouthishand,makingtheoldsoldierpauseforamoment.
You needn’t worry, Lord Marshal, I am not contagious. Varuz gave it a limp
shake, as though worried it might snap off, then he mumbled his excuses and
strode away, head held high. The dripping soldiers bowed and saluted as he
walkedpast,somewhatembarrassed.
Gloktastretchedouthisleg,wonderingwhethertogetup.Andgowhere?The
worldwillnotendifIsithereamomentlonger.Thereisnorush.Norush.
AnOfferandaGift
“And, forward!” bellowed Marshal Varuz. Jezal lurched at him, toes curling
roundthe edges ofthe beam, tryingdesperately tokeephis balance, makinga
clumsy lunge or two just to give the impression of his heart being in it. Four
hoursof trainingaday weretakingtheirtollon him,andhe feltbeyondmere
exhaustion.
Varuz frowned and flicked Jezal’s blunted steel aside, moving effortlessly
alongthebeamasthoughitwasagardenpath.“Andback!”
Jezalstumbledbackonhisheels,leftarmwavingstupidlyaroundhiminan
attempt to keep his balance. Everything above his knees was aching terribly
fromtheeffort.Belowthekneesitwasmuch,muchworse.Varuzwasoversixty,
but he showed no signs of fatigue. He wasn’t even sweating as he danced
forwarddownthebeam,swishinghissteelsaround.Jezalhimselfwasgasping
forairas heparrieddesperatelywithhislefthand,badlyoffbalance,hisright
footfishinginspaceforthesafetyofthebeambehindhim.
“And, forward!” Jezal’s calves were agony as he stumbled to change his
directionandshoveablowattheinfuriatingoldman,butVaruzdidnotmove
back.Insteadheduckedunderthedespairingcutandusedthebackofhisarmto
sweepJezal’sfeetaway.
Jezalletoutahowlasthecourtyardturnedoveraroundhim.Hislegsmacked
painfullyagainsttheedgeofthebeam,thenhesprawledonhisfaceonthegrass,
chinthumpingintotheturfandmakinghisteethrattle.Herolledashortdistance
thenlaythereonhisback,gaspinglikeafishsnatchedsuddenlyfromthewater,
legthrobbingwhereithadcollidedwiththebeamonhiswaydown.Hewould
haveyetanotheruglybruiseinthemorning.
“Awful,Jezal,awful!”criedtheoldsoldierashesprangnimblydownontothe
lawn. “You teeter about the beam as though it were a tightrope!” Jezal rolled
over,cursing,andstartedtoclimbstifflytohisfeet.“Itisasolidpieceofoak,
wideenoughtogetlostin!”TheLordMarshalillustratedhispointbywhacking
atthebeamwithhisshortsteel,makingsplintersfly.
“Ithoughtyousaidforward,”moanedJezal.
Varuz’eyebrowswentupsharply.“Doyouseriouslysuppose,CaptainLuthar,
that Bremer dan Gorst gives his opponents reliable information as to his
intentions?”
“BremerdanGorstwillbetryingtobeatme,youoldshit!Youaresupposed
tobehelpingmetobeathim!”ThatwaswhatJezalthought,butheknewbetter
thantosayit.Hejustshookhisheaddumbly.
“No!Noindeedhedoesnot!Hemakeseveryefforttodeceiveandconfusehis
opponents,asallgreatswordsmenmust!”TheLordMarshalpacedupanddown,
shakinghishead.Jezalconsideredagainwhethertogiveitallup.Hewassickof
fallingintobedexhaustedeachnight,atatimewhenheshouldhavebeenjust
starting to get drunk. He was sick of waking up every morning, bruised and
aching,tofaceanotherfourinterminablehoursofrunning,beam,bar,forms.He
wassickofbeingknockedonhisarsebyMajorWest.Mostofallhewassickof
beingbulliedbythisoldfool.
“…A depressing display, Captain, very depressing. I do believe you are
actuallygettingworse…”
JezalwouldneverwintheContest.Nooneexpectedhimto,himselfleastof
all.Sowhynotgiveitup,andgobacktohiscardsandlatenights?Wasn’tthat
all he really wanted from life? But then what would mark him out from a
thousandothernobleyoungersons?Hehaddecidedlongagothathewantedto
be something special. A Lord Marshal himself perhaps, and then Lord
Chamberlain. Something big and important anyway. He wanted a big chair on
theClosedCouncil,andtomakebigdecisions.Hewantedpeopletofawnand
smile around him and hang on his every word. He wanted people to whisper,
“TheregoesLordLuthar!”ashesweptpast.Couldhebehappybeingforevera
richer,cleverer,better-lookingversionofLieutenantBrint?Ugh!Itwasnottobe
thoughtof.
“…Wehaveaterriblylongwaytogo,andnotenoughtimetogetthere,not
unless you change your attitude. Your sparring is lamentable, your stamina is
stillweak,andasforyourbalance,thelesssaidaboutthatthebetter…”
Andwhatwouldeveryoneelsethinkifhegaveup?Whatwouldhisfatherdo?
Whatwouldhisbrotherssay?Whatabouttheotherofficers?Hewouldlooka
coward.AndthentherewasArdeeWest.Sheseemedtohavebeenmuchonhis
mindduringthepastcoupleofdays.Wouldsheleansoclosetohimifhedidn’t
fence?Wouldshetalktohiminsuchsofttones?Wouldshelaughathisjokes?
Wouldshelookupathimwiththosebig,darkeyes,sohecouldalmostfeelher
breathonhisface—
“Areyoulistening,boy?”thunderedVaruz.Jezalfeltabitofhisbreathonhis
facealright,andadealofspittoo.
“Yes, sir! Sparring lamentable, stamina weak!” Jezal swallowed nervously.
“Lesssaidaboutbalancethebetter.”
“That’sright!Iambeginningtothink,thoughIcanhardlybelieveitafterthe
troubleyouhaveputmeto, thatyourheartreallyisn’tinthis.”Heglaredinto
Jezal’seyes.“Whatdoyouthink,Major?”
There was no reply. West was slumped in his chair, arms folded, frowning
grimlyandstaringintospace.
“MajorWest?”snappedtheLordMarshal.
He looked up suddenly, as though he had only just become aware of their
presence.“I’msorry,sir,Ihadbecomedistracted.”
“So I see.” Varuz sucked his teeth. “It seems that nobody has been
concentrating this morning.” It was a great relief that some of the old man’s
angerhadbeendeflectedelsewhere,butJezal’shappinesswasnotlong-lived.
“Verywell,”snappedtheoldMarshal,“ifthat’sthewayyouwantit.Starting
tomorrowwewillbegin each session with a swim in the moat.A mile or two
shoulddoit.”Jezalsqueezedhisteethtogethertokeepfromscreaming.“Cold
water has a wonderful way of sharpening the senses. And perhaps we need to
start a little earlier, to catch you in your most receptive frame of mind. That
means we begin at five. In the meantime, Captain Luthar, I suggest that you
consider whether you are here in order to win the Contest, or simply for the
pleasureofmycompany.”Andheturnedonhisheelandstalkedoff.
Jezal waited until Varuz had left the courtyard before losing his temper, but
oncehewassuretheoldmanwasoutofearshotheflunghissteelsagainstthe
wallinafury.
“Damnit!”heshoutedastheswordsrattledtotheground.“Shit!”Helooked
aroundforsomethingtokickthatwouldn’thurttoomuch.Hiseyelightedonthe
legofthebeam, but he misjudged the kickbadlyandhadto stifle the urgeto
grabhisbruisedfootandhoparoundlikeanidiot.“Shit,shit!”heraged.
West was disappointingly unimpressed. He got up, frowning, and made to
followMarshalVaruz.
“Whereareyouoffto?”askedJezal.
“Away,”saidWest,overhisshoulder,“I’veseenenough.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Weststoppedandturnedtofacehim.“Amazingthoughitmayseem,thereare
biggerproblemsintheworldthanthis.”
JezalstoodthereopenmouthedasWeststalkedfromthecourtyard.“Justwho
do you think you are?” he shouted after him, once he was sure he was gone.
“Shit,shit!”Heconsideredgivingthebeamanotherkick,butthoughtbetterofit.
Jezalwasinafoulmoodonhiswaybacktohisquarters,sohestayedaway
fromthebusierpartsoftheAgriont,stickingtothequieterlanesandgardensto
thesideoftheKingsway.Heglowereddownathisfeetashewalked,tofurther
discourageanysocialencounter.Butluckwasnotonhisside.
“Jezal!”ItwasKaspa,outforastrollwithayellow-hairedgirlinexpensive
clothes.Theyhadasevere-lookingmiddle-agedwomanwiththem,nodoubtthe
girl’sgovernessorsomesuch.Theyhadstoppedtoadmiresomepieceofminor
sculptureinalittle-visitedyard.
“Jezal!”Kaspashouted again, waving his hat above hishead.Therewas no
avoiding them. He plastered an unconvincing smile onto his face and stalked
over. The palegirlsmiled athimas he approached,butif he wasmeantto be
charmedhedidn’tfeelit.
“Been fencing again, Luthar?” asked Kaspa pointlessly. Jezal was sweating
and holding a pair of fencing steels. It was well known that he fenced every
morning. You didn’t need a fine mind to make the connection, which was
fortunate,becauseKaspacertainlydidn’thaveone.
“Yes.Howdidyouguess?”Jezalhadn’tmeanttokilltheconversationquite
sodead,buthe passed it offwith a false chuckle, andthesmilesof the ladies
soonreturned.
“Hah,hah,”laughedKaspa,everwillingtobethebuttofajoke.
“Jezal, may I introduce my cousin, the Lady Ariss dan Kaspa? This is my
superior officer, Captain Luthar.” So this was the famous cousin. One of the
Unions richest heiresses and from an excellent family. Kaspa was always
babblingaboutwhatabeautyshewas,buttoJezalsheseemedapale,skinny,
sickly-lookingthing.Shesmiledweaklyandofferedoutherlimp,whitehand.
Hebrushed it withthemost perfunctory ofkisses.“Charmed,” he muttered,
withoutrelish.“Imustapologiseformyappearance,I’vejustbeenfencing.”
“Yes,” she squeaked, in a high, piping voice, once she was sure he had
finished speaking. “I have heard you are a great fencer.” There was a pause
whileshegropedforsomethingtosay,thenhereyeslitup.“TellmeCaptain,is
fencingreallyverydangerous?”
Whatinsipiddrivel.“Ohno,mylady,weonlyusebluntedsteelsinthecircle.”
Hecouldhavesaid more, but he was damned ifhewasgoingto make all the
effort. He gave a thin smile. So did she. The conversation hovered over the
abyss.
Jezal was about to make his excuses, the subject of fencing evidently
exhausted,butArisscuthimoffbyblunderingontoanothertopic.“Andtellme,
Captain,istherereallylikelytobeawarintheNorth?”Hervoicehadalmost
entirely faded away by the end of the sentence, but the chaperone stared on
approvingly,nodoubtdelightedbytheconversationalskillsofhercharge.
Spareus.“Wellitseemstome…”Jezalbegan.Thepale,blueeyesofLady
Arissstaredbackathimexpectantly.Blueeyesareabsolutecrap,hereflected.
He wondered which subject she was more ignorant of: fencing or politics?
“Whatdoyouthink?”
Thechaperone’sbrow furrowedslightly.Lady Arisslookedsomewhat taken
aback,blushingslightlyasshegropedforwords.“Well,er…thatistosay…I’m
surethateverythingwill…turnoutwell?”
Thankthefates!thoughtJezal,wearesaved!Hehadtogetoutofhere.“Of
course, everything will turn out well.” He forced out one more smile. “It has
been a real pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I’m afraid I’m on duty
shortly, so I must leave you.” He bowed with frosty formality. “Lieutenant
Kaspa,LadyAriss.”
Kaspa clapped him on the arm, as friendly as ever. His ignorant waif of a
cousinsmileduncertainly.Thegovernessfrownedathimashepassed,butJezal
tooknonotice.
He arrived at the Lords’ Round just as the council members were returning
fromtheirlunchtimerecess.Heacknowledgedtheguardsinthevestibulewitha
tersenod,thenstrodethroughtheenormousdoorwayanddownthecentralisle.
A stragglingcolumnof thegreatest peersofthe realmwerehard onhisheels,
and the echoing space was full of shuffling footsteps, grumblings and
whisperings,asJezalmadehiswayaroundthecurvedwalltohisplacebehind
thehightable.
“Jezal,howwasfencing?”ItwasJalenhorm,hereearlyforonce,andseizing
ontheopportunitytotalkbeforetheLordChamberlainarrived.
“I’vehadbettermornings.Yourself?”
“Oh,I’vebeenhavingafinetime.ImetthatcousinofKaspa’s,youknow,”he
searchedforthename.
Jezalsighed.“LadyAriss.”
“Yes,that’sit!Haveyouseenher?”
“Iwasluckyenoughtorunintothemjustnow.”
“Phew!”exclaimedJalenhorm,pursinghislips.“Isn’tshestunning?”
“Hmm.” Jezal looked away, bored, and watched the robed and fur-trimmed
worthiesfileslowlytotheirplaces.Atleasthewatchedasampleoftheirleast
favouritesonsandpaidrepresentatives.Veryfewofthemagnatesturnedupin
personforOpenCouncilthesedays,notunlesstheyhadsomethingsignificantto
complainabout.Alotofthemdidn’tevenbothertosendsomeoneintheirplace.
“I swear, one of the finest-looking girls I ever saw. I know Kaspa’s always
ravingabouther,buthedidn’tdoherjustice.”
“Hmm.”Thecouncillorsbegantospreadout,eachmantowardshisownseat.
The Lords’ Round was designed like a theatre, the Union’s leading noblemen
sitting where the audience would be, on a great half-circle of banked benches
withanaisledownthecentre.
Asinthetheatre,someseatswerebetterthanothers.Theleastimportantsat
high up at the back, and the occupants’ significance increased as you came
forward.Thefrontrowwasreservedfortheheadsoftheverygreatestfamilies,
or whoever they sent in their stead. Representatives from the south, from
DagoskaandWestport,wereontheleft,nearesttoJezal.Onthefarrightwere
those from the north and west, from Angland and Starikland. The bulk of the
seating, in between, was for the old nobility of Midderland, the heart of the
Union.The Union proper, astheywould have seenit.As Jezal saw ittoo,for
thatmatter.
“Whatpoise, whatgrace,” Jalenhormwasrhapsodising,“thatwonderful fair
hair,thatmilky-whiteskin,thosefantasticblueeyes.”
“Andallofthatmoney.”
“Wellyes,thattoo,”smiledthebigman.“Kaspasayshisuncleisevenricher
than his father. Imagine that! And he has just the one child. She will inherit
everymarkofit.Everymark!”Jalenhormcouldscarcelycontainhisexcitement.
“It’saluckymanthatcanbagher!Whatwashernameagain?”
“Ariss,” said Jezal sourly. The Lords, or their proxies, had all shuffled and
grumbled their way to their seats. It was a poor attendance: the benches were
less than half full. That was about as full as it ever got. If the Lords’ Round
reallyhadbeenatheatre,itsownerswouldhavebeendesperatelyinsearchofa
newplay.
“Ariss. Ariss.” Jalenhorm smacked his lips as though the name left a sweet
taste.“It’saluckymanthatgetsher.”
“Yesindeed.Aluckyman.”Providinghepreferscashtoconversation,thatis.
Jezalthoughthemighthavepreferredtomarrythegoverness.Atleastshehad
seemedtohaveabitofbackbone.
The Lord Chamberlain had entered the hall now, and was making his way
towardsthedaisonwhichthehightablestood,justaboutwherethestagewould
havebeen,hadtheRoundbeenatheatre.Hewasfollowedbyagaggleofblack-
gownedsecretariesandclerks, each man more or less encumbered with heavy
books and sheaves of official-looking papers. With his crimson robes of state
flappingbehindhim,LordHofflookedlikenothingsomuchasarareandstately
glidingbird,pursuedbyaflockoftroublesomecrows.
“Herecomesoldvinegar,”whisperedJalenhorm,ashesidledoff tofindhis
place on the other side of the table. Jezal put his hands behind his back and
strucktheusualpose,feetalittlespread,chinhighintheair.Hesweptaneye
over the soldiers, regularly spaced around the curved wall, but each man was
motionless and perfectly presented in full armour, as always. He took a deep
breathandpreparedhimselfforseveralhoursofthemostextremetedium.
TheLordChamberlain threw himself into histallchairand called for wine.
Thesecretariestooktheirplacesaroundhim,leavingaspaceinthecentreforthe
King, who was absent as usual. Documents were rustled, great ledgers were
heaved open, pens were sharpened and rattled in ink wells. The Announcer
walkedtotheendofthetableandstruckhisstaffofofficeonthefloorfororder.
Thewhisperingofthenoblemenandtheirproxies,andthatofthefewattendees
in the public gallery over their heads, gradually died down, leaving the vast
chambersilent.
TheAnnouncerpuffedouthischest.“Icallthismeeting,”hesaid,inslowand
sonoroustones,asthoughheweregivingtheeulogyatafuneral,“oftheOpen
Council of the Union…” he gave an unnecessarily long and significant pause.
The Lord Chamberlain’s eyes flicked angrily towards him, but the Announcer
wasnottoberobbedofhismomentofglory.Hemadeeveryonewaitaninstant
longerbeforefinishing,“…toorder!”
“Thankyou,”saidHoffsourly.“IbelievewewereabouttohearfromtheLord
GovernorofDagoskabeforewewereinterruptedbyluncheon.”Thescratching
nibsofquillsaccompaniedhisvoice,astwoclerksrecordedhiseveryword.The
faintechoesofthepensmergedwiththeechoesofhiswordsinthegreatspace
above.
An elderly man struggled to his feet in the front row close to Jezal, some
papersclaspedbeforehiminshakyhands.
“The Open Council,” droned the Announcer, as ponderously as he dared,
“recognises Rush dan Thuel, accepted proxy of Sand dan Vurms, the Lord
GovernorofDagoska!”
“Thankyou,sir.”Thuel’scracking,wispyvoicewasabsurdlysmallinthevast
space.ItbarelycarriedasfarasJezal,andhewasnomorethantenstridesaway.
“MyLords—”hebegan.
“Speak up!” called someone from the back. There was a ripple of laughter.
Theoldmanclearedhisthroatandtriedagain.
“My Lords, I come before you with an urgent message from the Lord
Governor of Dagoska.” His voice had already faded to its original, barely
audible level, each word accompanied by the persistent scratching of quills.
Whispersbegantoemanatefromthepublicgalleryabove,makingitstillharder
to hear him. “The threat posed to that great city by the Emperor of Gurkhul
increaseswitheverypassingday.”
Vaguesoundsofdisapprovalbegantofloatupfromthefarsideoftheroom,
where the representatives from Angland were seated, but the bulk of the
councillors simply looked bored. “Attacks on shipping, harassment of traders,
and demonstrations beyond our walls, have compelled the Lord Governor to
sendme—”
“Luckyus!”somebodyshouted.Therewasanotherwaveoflaughter,slightly
louderthistime.
“Thecityisbuiltonbutanarrowpeninsula,”persistedtheoldman,straining
tomakehimselfheardovertheincreasingbackgroundnoise,“attachedtoaland
controlled entirely by our bitter enemies the Gurkish, and separated from
Midderlandbywideleaguesofsaltwater!Ourdefencesarenotalltheymight
be!TheLordGovernorissorelyinneedofmorefunds…”
The mention of funds brought instant uproar from the assembly. Thuel’s
mouthwasstillmoving,buttherewasnochanceofhearinghimnow.TheLord
Chamberlain frowned and took a swallow from his goblet. The clerk furthest
fromJezalhadlaiddownhisquillandwasrubbinghiseyeswithhisinkythumb
and forefinger. The clerk closest had just finished writing a line. Jezal craned
forwardtosee.Itsaidsimply:
Someshoutinghere.
The Announcer thumped his staff on the tiles with a look of great self-
satisfaction. The hubbub eventually died down but Thuel had now been taken
withacoughingfit.Hetriedtospeakbutwasunable,andeventuallyhewaved
hishandandsatdown,veryredintheface,whilehisneighbourthumpedhimon
theback.
“IfImay,LordChamberlain?”shoutedafashionableyoungmaninthefront
rowontheothersideofthehall,leapingtohisfeet.Thescratchingofthequills
beganonceagain.“Itseemstome—”
“The Open Council,” cut in the Announcer, “recognises Hersel dan Meed,
third son and accepted proxy of Fedor dan Meed, the Lord Governor of
Angland!”
“Itseemstome,”continuedthehandsomeyoungman,onlyslightlyannoyed
bythisinterruption, “that our friendsinthesouth are forever expectingafull-
scale attack by the Emperor!” Dissenting voices were now raised on the other
side of the room. “An attack which never materialises! Did we not defeat the
Gurkish only a few short years ago, or does my memory deceive me?” The
booing increased in volume. “This scaremongering represents an unacceptable
drainontheUnion’sresources!”Hewasshoutingtobeheard.“InAnglandwe
havemany milesofborder and toofew soldiers, whilethe threatfromBethod
andhisNorthmenisveryreal!Ifanyoneisinneedoffunds…”
The shouting was instantly redoubled. Cries of “Hear, hear!”, “Nonsense!”,
“True!”and“Lies!”couldbevaguelymadeoutoverthehubbub.Severalofthe
representatives were on their feet, shouting. Some vigorously nodded their
agreement, some violently shook their heads in dissent. Others yawned and
staredaround.Jezalcouldseeonefellow,neartothebackinthecentre,whowas
almostcertainlyasleep,andinimminentdangerofslumpingintohisneighbour’s
lap.
Heallowedhiseyestowanderup,overthefacesrangedaroundtherailofthe
publicgallery.Hefeltastrangetugginginhischest.ArdeeWestwasupthere,
lookingstraightdownathim.Astheireyesmetshesmiledandwaved.Hewas
smilinghimself,withhisarmhalfwayuptowave,whenherememberedwhere
he was. He pushed his arm behind his back and looked around nervously, but
was relieved to find that no one important had noticed his mistake. The smile
wouldnotquiteleavehisfacethough.
“MyLords!”roaredtheLordChamberlain,smashinghisemptygobletdown
onthehightable.HehadtheloudestvoiceJezalhadeverheard.EvenMarshal
VaruzcouldhavelearnedathingortwoaboutshoutingfromHoff.Thesleeping
mannearthebackstartedup,sniffingandblinking.Thenoisediedawayalmost
immediately. Those representatives left standing looked around guiltily, like
naughtychildrencalledtoaccount,andgraduallysatdown.Thewhispersfrom
thepublicgallerywentstill.Orderwasrestored.
“MyLords!Icanassureyou,theKinghasnomoreseriousconcernthanthe
safety of his subjects, no matter where they are! The Union does not permit
aggression against its people or property!” Hoff punctuated each comment by
smashing his fist down in front of him. “From the Emperor of Gurkhul, from
thesesavagesintheNorth,orfromanyoneelse!”Hestruckthetablesohardon
this last comment that ink splashed from a well and ran all over one of the
clerks’carefullyprepareddocuments.Callsofagreementandsupportgreetedthe
LordChamberlain’spatrioticdisplay.
“As for the specific circumstance of Dagoska!” Thuel looked up hopefully,
cheststillshakingwithsuppressedcoughs.“Isthatcitynotpossessedofsomeof
themostpowerfulandextensivedefencesintheworld?Diditnotresistasiege
bytheGurkish,lessthanadecadeago,foroverayear?Whathasbecomeofthe
walls,sir,thewalls?”Thegreatroomfellquietaseveryonestrainedtohearthe
reply.
“LordChamberlain,”wheezedThuel,hisvoicenearlydrownedoutasoneof
theclerksturnedthecracklingpageofhishugebook andbegan scratchingon
thenext,“thedefenceshavefallenintopoorrepair,andwelackthesoldiersto
keepthemproperlymanned.TheEmperorisnotignorantofthis,”hewhispered,
allbutinaudible,“Ibegofyou…”Hedissolvedintoanotherfitofcoughing,and
dropped into his seat, accompanied by some light jeering from the Angland
delegation.
Hofffrownedevenmoredeeply.“Itwasmyunderstandingthatthedefences
ofthecityweretobemaintainedbymoniesraisedlocally,andbytradelevies
upontheHonourableGuildofSpicers,whohaveoperatedinDagoskaunderan
exclusive and highly profitable licence these past seven years. If resources
cannotbefoundeventomaintainthewalls,”andheswepttheassemblywitha
darkeye,“perhapsitistimethatthislicencewasputouttotender.”Therewasa
volleyofangrymutteringsaroundthepublicgallery.
“In any case, the Crown can spare no extra monies at present!” Jeers of
dissatisfaction came from the Dagoska side of the room, hoots of agreement
fromtheAnglandside.
“As for the specific circumstance of Angland!” thundered the Lord
Chamberlain,turningtowardMeed.“Ibelievewemayshortlyhearsomegood
news,foryoutotakebacktoyourfathertheLordGovernor.”Acloudofexcited
whisperings rose up into the gilded dome above. The handsome young man
looked pleasantly surprised, as well he might. It was rare indeed that anyone
took good news away from the Open Council, or news of any kind for that
matter.
Thuel had got control of his lungs once more, and he opened his mouth to
speak, but he was interrupted by a great beating on the huge door behind the
high table. The Lords looked up: surprised, expectant. The Lord Chamberlain
smiled, in the manner of a magician who has just pulled off an exceptionally
difficulttrick.Hesignalledtotheguards,theheavyironboltsweredrawnback,
andthegreat,inlaiddoorscreakedslowlyopen.
EightKnightsoftheBody,encasedinglitteringarmour,facelessbehindhigh,
polishedhelmets,resplendentinpurplecloaksmarkedonthebackwithagolden
sun,stompedinunisondownthestepsandtooktheirplacestoeithersideofthe
hightable.Theywerecloselyfollowedbyfourtrumpeters,whosteppedsmartly
forward, raised their shining instruments to their lips and blew an ear-splitting
fanfare.Jezalgrittedhisrattlingteethandnarrowedhiseyes,buteventuallythe
ringing echoes faded. The Lord Chamberlain turned angrily toward the
Announcer,whowasstaringatthenewarrivalswithhismouthopen.
“Well?”hissedHoff.
TheAnnouncerjumpedtolife.“Ah…yesofcourse!MyLordsandLadies,I
have the great honour to present…” he paused and took a huge breath, “…his
ImperialHighness,theKingofAngland,ofStarikland,andofMidderland,the
Protector of Westport and of Dagoska, his August Majesty, Guslav the Fifth,
High King of the Union!” There was a great rustling noise as every man and
womaninthehallshiftedfromtheirseatsanddownontooneknee.
The royal palanquin processed slowly through the doors, carried on the
shouldersofsixmorefacelessknights.TheKingwassittinginagildedchairon
top,proppeduponrichcushionsandswayinggentlyfromsidetoside.Hewas
staringabouthimwiththestartledexpressionofamanwhowenttosleepdrunk,
andhaswokenupinanunfamiliarroom.
Helookedawful.Enormouslyfat,lollinglikeagreathillswathedinfurand
redsilk,headsquashedintohisshouldersbytheweightofthegreat,sparkling
crown.Hiseyeswereglassyandbulging,withhugedarkbagshangingbeneath,
andthe pinkpointof histonguekept flickingnervouslyover hispalelips. He
hadgreatlowjowlsandarolloffataroundhisneck,infacthiswholefacegave
theappearanceofhavingslightlymeltedandstartedtorundownoffhisskull.
SuchwastheHighKingoftheUnion,butJezalbowedhisheadalittleloweras
thepalanquinapproached,justthesame.
“Oh,” muttered his August Majesty, as though he had forgotten something,
“please rise.” The rustling noise filled the hall again as everybody rose and
returnedtotheirseats.TheKingturnedtowardHoff,browdeeplyfurrowed,and
Jezalheardhimsay,“WhyamIhere?”
“TheNorthmen,yourMajesty.”
“Ohyes!”TheKing’seyeslitup.Hepaused.“Whataboutthem?”
“Er…”buttheLordChamberlainwassavedfromreplyingbytheopeningof
thedoorsontheoppositesideofthehall,theonesthroughwhichJezalhadfirst
entered.Twostrangemenstrodethroughandadvanceddowntheaisle.
One was a grizzled old warrior with a scar and a blind eye, carrying a flat
woodenbox.Theother was cloaked and hooded, every featurehidden,andso
bigthathemadethewholehallseemoutofproportion.Thebenches,thetables,
eventheguards,allsuddenlylookedlikesmallversionsdesignedfortheuseof
children.Ashepassed,acoupleoftherepresentativesclosesttotheaislecringed
andshuffledaway.Jezalfrownedtohimself.Thishoodedgiantdidnothavethe
look of good news, whatever Lord Hoff might say. Angry and suspicious
mutteringsfilledtheechoingdomeasthetwoNorthmentooktheirplacesonthe
tiledfloorbeforethehightable.
“YourMajesty,”saidtheAnnouncer,bowingsoridiculouslylowthathehad
to support himself with his staff, “the Open Council recognises Fenris the
Feared,theenvoyofBethod,KingoftheNorthmen,andhistranslator,White-
EyeHansul!”
The King was staring off happily towards one of the great windows in the
curvedwall,utterlyoblivious,perhapsadmiringthewaythelightshonethrough
thebeautifulstainedglass,buthelookedsuddenlyround,jowlsvibrating,asthe
oldhalf-blindwarrioraddressedhim.
“YourMajesty.Ibringbrotherlygreetingsfrommymaster,Bethod,King of
theNorthmen.”TheRoundhadfallenverystill,andtheclerks’scratchingnibs
seemedabsurdlyloud.Theoldwarriornoddedatthegreathoodedshapebeside
himwithanawkwardsmile.“FenristheFearedbringsanofferfromBethodto
yourself.FromKingtoKing.FromtheNorthtotheUnion.Anoffer,andagift.”
Andheraisedthewoodenbox.
TheLordChamberlaingaveaself-satisfiedsmirk.“Speakyourofferfirst.”
“It is an offer of peace. An endless peace between our two great nations.”
White-Eyebowedagain.Hismannerswereimpeccable,Jezalhadtoadmit.Not
whatonewouldexpectfromsavagesofthecoldanddistantNorth.Hisgoodly
speechwouldalmosthavebeenenoughtoputtheroomatease,haditnotbeen
forthehoodedmanbesidehim,loominglikeadarkshadow.
TheKing’sfacetwitchedintoaweaksmileatthismentionofpeacehowever.
“Good,”hemuttered.“Excellent.Peace.Capital.Peaceisgood.”
“Heasksbutonesmallthinginreturn,”saidWhite-Eye.
The Lord Chamberlain’s face had turned suddenly dour, but it was too late.
“Hehasbuttonameit,”saidtheKing,smilingindulgently.
Thehoodedmansteppedforward.“Angland,”hehissed.
Therewasamomentofstillness,thenthehallexplodedwithnoise.Therewas
a gale of disbelieving laughter from the public gallery. Meed was on his feet,
red-faced and screaming. Thuel tottered up from his bench, then fell back
coughing.Angrybellowswerejoinedbyhootsofderision.TheKingwasstaring
abouthimwithallthedignityofastartledrabbit.
Jezal’seyeswerefixedonthehoodedman.Hesawagreathandslipoutfrom
hissleeveandreachfortheclasponhiscloak.Heblinkedinsurprise.Wasthe
handblue?Orwasitjustatrickofthelightthroughthestainedglass?Thecloak
droppedtothefloor.
Jezalswallowed,hisheartthumpingloudinhisears.Itwaslikestaringata
terrible wound: the more he was revolted, the less he could look away. The
laughterdied,theshoutingdied,thegreatspacebecameterriblystilloncemore.
Fenris the Feared seemed larger yet without his cloak, towering over his
cringing translator. Without any doubt, he was the biggest man that Jezal had
everseen,ifmanhewas.Hisfacewasinconstant,twisted,sneeringmotion.His
bulgingeyestwitchedandblinkedastheystaredcrazilyroundattheassembly.
Histhinlipssmiledandgrimacedandfrownedbyturns,neverstill.Butallthis
seemedordinary,bycomparisonwithhisstrangestfeature.
Hiswholeleftside,fromheadtotoe,wascoveredinwriting.
Crabbyruneswerescrawledacrossthelefthalfofhisshavenhead,acrosshis
eyelid,hislips,hisscalp,hisear.Hishugeleftarmwastattooedbluewithtiny
writing,frombulgingshouldertothetipsofhislongfingers.Evenhisbareleft
foot was covered in strange letters. An enormous, inhuman, painted monster
stoodattheveryheartoftheUnion’sgovernment.Jezal’sjawhungopen.
Aroundthe high tablethere werefourteenKnights oftheBody,eachmana
hard-trained fighter of good blood. There were perhaps forty guardsmen of
Jezal’s own company around the walls, each one a seasoned veteran. They
outnumberedthesetwoNorthmenmorethantwentytoone,andwerewellarmed
withthebeststeeltheKing’sarmouriescouldprovide.FenristheFearedcarried
no weapon. For all his size and strangeness, he should have been no threat to
them.
ButJezaldidnotfeelsafe.Hefeltalone,weak,helpless,andterriblyafraid.
Hisskinwastingling,hismouthwasdry.Hefeltasuddenurgetorun,andhide,
andnevercomeoutagain.
And this strange effect was not limited to him, or even to those around the
hightable.Angrylaughsturnedtoshockedgurglesasthepaintedmonsterturned
slowlyaroundinthecentreofthecircularfloor,flickeringeyesrunningoverthe
crowd.Meedshrankbackontohisbench,angerallleachedoutofhim.Acouple
ofworthiesonthefrontrowactuallyscrambledoverthebacksoftheirbenches
andintotherowbehind.Otherslookedaway,orcoveredtheirfaceswiththeir
hands.Oneofthesoldiersdroppedhisspear,anditclatteredloudlytothefloor.
Fenris the Feared turned slowly to the high table, raising his great tattooed
fist, opening his chasm of a mouth, a hideous spasm running over his face.
“Angland!” he screamed, louder and more terrible by far than the Lord
Chamberlain had ever been. The echoes of his voice bounced off the domed
ceilinghighabove,resoundedfromthecurvedwalls,fillingthegreatspacewith
piercingsound.
OneoftheKnightsoftheBodystumbledbackandslipped,hisarmouredleg
clankingagainsttheedgeofthehightable.
The King shrank back and covered his face with his hand, one terrified eye
staringoutfrombetweenhisfingers,crownteeteringonhishead.
Thequillofoneoftheclerksdroppedfromhisnervelessfingers.Thehandof
theothermovedacrossthepaperbyhabitwhilehismouthfellopen,scrawlinga
messyworddiagonallythroughtheneatlinesofscriptabove.
Angland.
TheLordChamberlain’sfacehadturnedwaxypale.Hereachedslowlyforhis
goblet,raisedittohislips.Itwasempty.Heplaceditcarefullybackdownonthe
table,buthishandwastrembling,andthebaserattledonthewood.Hepaused
for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. “Plainly, this offer is not
acceptable.”
“That is unfortunate,” said White-Eye Hansul, “but there is still the gift.”
Everyeyeturnedtowardshim.“IntheNorthwehaveatradition.Onoccasion,
when there is bad blood between two clans, when there is the threat of war,
championscomeforwardfromeachside,tofightforalltheirpeople,sothatthe
issuemightbedecided…withonlyonedeath.”
Heslowlyopenedthelidofthewoodenbox.Therewasalongknifeinside,
bladepolishedmirror-bright.“HisGreatness,Bethod,sendstheFearednotonly
as his envoy, but as his champion. He will fight for Angland, if any here will
face him, and spare you a war you will not win.” He held the box up to the
painted monster. “This is my master’s gift to you, and there could be none
richer…yourlives.”
Fenris’righthanddartedoutandsnatchedtheknifefromthebox.Heraisedit
high,bladeflashinginthecolouredlightfromthegreatwindows.Theknights
should have jumped forward. Jezal should have drawn his sword. All should
have rushed to the defence of the King, but nobody moved. Every mouth was
agape,everyeyefastenedonthatglintingtoothofsteel.
Thebladeflasheddown.Itspointdroveeasilythroughskinandfleshuntilit
was buried right to the hilt. The point emerged, dripping blood, from the
undersideofFenris’owntattooedleftarm.Hisfacetwitched,butnomorethan
usual.Theblademovedgrotesquelyashestretchedouthisfingers,raisedhisleft
armhighforalltosee.Thedropsofbloodmadeasteadypatteronthefloorof
theLords’Round.
“Who will fight me?” he screamed, great cords of sinew bulging from his
neck.Hisvoicewasalmostpainfultotheear.
Uttersilence.TheAnnouncer,whowasclosesttotheFeared,andalreadyon
hisknees,swoonedandcollapsedonhisface.
Fenristurnedhisgogglingeyesonthebiggestknightbeforethetable,afull
headshorterthanhewas.“You?”hehissed.Theunfortunateman’sfootscraped
onthefloorashebackedaway,nodoubtwishinghehadbeenbornadwarf.
A puddle of dark blood had spread across the floor beneath Fenris’ elbow.
“You?”hesnarledatFedordanMeed.Theyoungmanturnedslightlygrey,teeth
rattlingtogether,nodoubtwishinghewassomeoneelse’sson.
Those blinking eyes swept across the ashen faces on the high table. Jezal’s
throatconstrictedasFenris’eyesmethis.“You?”
“WellIwould,butI’mterriblybusythisafternoon.Perhapstomorrow?”The
voice hardly sounded like his own. He certainly hadn’t meant to say any such
thing. But who else’s could it be? The words floated confidently, breezily up
towardsthegildeddomeabove.
There was scattered laughter, a shout of “Bravo!” from somewhere at the
back,buttheeyesoftheFeareddidnotleaveJezal’sforaninstant.Hewaited
forthesoundstodie,thenhismouthtwistedintoahideousleer.
“Tomorrowthen,”hewhispered.Jezal’sgutsgaveasuddenpainfulshift.The
seriousness of the situation pressed itself upon him like a ton of rocks. Him?
Fightthat?
“No.” It was the Lord Chamberlain. He was still pale, but his voice had
regainedmuchofitsvigour.Jezaltookheart,andfoughtmanfullyforcontrolof
hisbowels.“No!”barkedHoffagain.“Therewillbenoduelhere!Thereisno
issuetodecide!AnglandisapartoftheUnion,byancientlaw!”
White-Eye Hansul chuckled softly. “Ancient law? Angland is part of the
North. Two hundred years ago there were Northmen there, living free. You
wantediron,soyoucrossedthesea,andslaughteredthemandstoletheirland!It
must be, then, that most ancient of laws: that the strong take what they wish
fromtheweak?”Hiseyesnarrowed.“Wehavethatlawalso!”
Fenris the Feared ripped the knife from his arm. A few last drops of blood
spattered onto the tiles, but that was all. There was no wound on the tattooed
flesh.Nomarkatall.Theknifeclatteredontothetilesandlaythereinthepool
ofbloodathisfeet.Fenrisswepttheassemblywithhisbulging,blinking,crazy
eyesone lasttime,then heturned andstrodeacross thefloorand uptheaisle,
Lordsandproxiesscramblingawaydowntheirbenchesasheapproached.
White-Eye Hansul bowed low. “Perhaps the time will come when you wish
that you had accepted our offer, or our gift. You will hear from us,” he said
quietly,thenheheldupthreefingerstotheLordChamberlain.“Whenitistime,
wewillsendthreesigns.”
“Sendthreehundredifyouwish,”barkedHoff,“butthispantomimeisover!”
White-EyeHansulnoddedpleasantly.“Youwillhearfromus.”Andheturned
andfollowedFenristheFearedoutoftheLords’Round.Thegreatdoorsclapped
shut.Thequillofthenearestclerkscratchedweaklyagainstthepaper.
Youwillhearfromus.
Fedor dan Meed turned towards the Lord Chamberlain, jaw locked tight,
handsomefeatures contortedwithfury.“Andthisis the goodnewsyou would
have me convey to my father?” he screamed. The Open Council erupted.
Bellowing,shouting,abusedirectedtowardanyoneandeveryone,chaosofthe
worstkind.
Hoffjumpedup,chairtopplingoverbehindhim,mouthingangrywords,but
even he was drowned out by the uproar. Meed turned his back on him and
stormedout.OtherdelegatesfromtheAnglandsideoftheroomrosegrimlyand
followedthesonoftheirLordGovernor.Hoffstaredafterthem,lividwithanger,
mouthworkingsilently.
Jezal watched the King slowly take his hand from his face and lean down
toward his Lord Chamberlain. “When are the Northmen getting here?” he
whispered.
TheKingoftheNorthmen
Logenbreathedindeep,enjoyingtheunfamiliarfeelofthecoolbreezeonhis
fresh-shavedjaw,andtookintheview.Itwasthebeginningofaclearday.The
dawnmistwasalmostgone,andfromthebalconyoutsideLogen’sroom,high
uponthesideofoneofthetowersofthelibrary,youcouldseeformiles.The
greatvalleywasspreadoutbeforehim, split into stark layers. On top was the
greyandpuffywhiteofthecloudysky.Thentherewastheraggedlineofblack
cragsthatringedthelake,andthedimbrownsuggestionofothersbeyond.Next
came the dark green of the wooded slopes, then the thin, curving line of grey
shingle on the beach. All was repeated in the still mirror of the lake below—
another,shadowyworld,upsidedownbeneathhisown.
Logenlookeddownathishands,fingersspreadoutontheweatheredstoneof
the parapet. There was no dirt, no dried blood under his cracked fingernails.
They looked pale, soft, pinkish, strange. Even the scabs and scrapes on his
knuckles were mostly healed. It was so long since Logen had been clean that
he’d forgotten what it felt like. His new clothes were coarse against his skin,
robbedofitsusualcoveringofdirtandgreaseanddrysweat.
Lookingoutatthestilllake,cleanandwellfed,hefeltadifferentman.Fora
momenthewonderedhowthisnewLogenmightturnout,butthebarestoneof
theparapetstaredbackathimwherehismissingfingerusedtobe.Thatcould
never heal. He was Ninefingers still, the Bloody-Nine, and always would be.
Unless he lost any more fingers. He did smell better though, that had to be
admitted.
“Didyousleepwell,MasterNinefingers?”Wellswasinthedoorway,peering
outontothebalcony.
“Like a baby.” Logen didn’t have the heart to tell the old servant that he’d
sleptoutside.Thefirstnighthe’dtriedthebed,rollingandwriggling,unableto
cometotermswiththestrangecomfortofamattressandtheunfamiliarwarmth
ofblankets.Nexthe’dtriedthefloor.Thathadbeenanimprovement.Buttheair
had still seemed close, flat, stale. The ceiling had hung over him, seeming to
creepeverlower,threateningtocrushhimwiththeweightofstoneabove.Itwas
only when he’d lain down on the hard flags of the balcony, with his old coat
spread over him and just the clouds and the stars above, that sleep had come.
Somehabitsarehardtobreak.
“Youhaveavisitor,”saidWells.
“Me?”
MalacusQuai’shead appearedaroundthe doorframe.His eyeswerea little
lesssunken,thebagsunderneaththemalittlelessdark.Therewassomecolour
tohisskin,andsomefleshonhisbones.Henolongerlookedlikeacorpse,just
gauntandsick,ashehaddonewhenLogenfirstmethim.Heguessedthatwas
aboutashealthyasQuaieverlooked.
“Hah!”laughedLogen.“Yousurvived!”
Theapprenticegaveaseriesoftirednodsasheshambledacrosstheroom.He
wasswathedinathickblanketwhichtrailedonthefloorandmadeitdifficultfor
himtowalkproperly.Heshuffledoutofthedoortothebalconyandstoodthere,
sniffingandblinkinginthechillmorningair.
Logenwasmorepleasedtoseehimthanhe’dexpected.Heclappedhimon
thebacklikeanoldfriend,perhapsalittletoowarmly.Theapprenticestumbled,
blankettangledroundhisfeet,andwouldhavefallenifLogenhadn’tputoutan
armtosteadyhim.
“Stillnotquiteinfightingshape,”mutteredQuai,withaweakgrin.
“YoulookadealbetterthanwhenIlastsawyou.”
“Sodoyou.YoulostthebeardIsee,andthesmelltoo.Afewlessscarsand
you’dlookalmostcivilised.”
Logenheldhishandsup.“Anythingbutthat.”
Wellsduckedthroughthedoorwayintothebrightmorninglight.Hehadaroll
ofclothandaknifeinhishand.“CouldIseeyourarm,MasterNinefingers?”
Logen had almost forgotten about the cut. There was no new blood on the
bandage,andwhenheunwoundittherewasalong,red-brownscabunderneath,
runningalmostallthewayfromwristtoelbow,surroundedbyfreshpinkskin.It
hardlyhurtanymore,justitched.Itcrossedtwoother,olderscars.One,ajagged
grey effort near his wrist, he thought he might have got in the duel with
Threetrees,allthoseyearsago.Logengrimacedasherememberedthebattering
they’d given each other. The second scar, fainter, higher up, he wasn’t sure
about.Could’vecomefromanywhere.
Wells bent down and tested the flesh round the wound while Quai peered
cautiouslyoverhisshoulder.“It’smendingwell.You’reafasthealer.”
“Lotsofpractice.”
Wells looked up atLogen’s face, wherethecuton his forehead had already
faded to one more pink line. “I can see. Would it be foolish to advise you to
avoidsharpobjectsinthefuture?”
Logenlaughed.“Believeitornot,Ialwaysdidmybesttoavoidtheminthe
past.Buttheyseemtoseekmeout,despitemyefforts.”
“Well,”saidtheoldservant,cuttingoffafreshlengthofclothandwindingit
carefullyroundLogen’sforearm,“Ihopethisisthelastbandageyoueverneed.”
“So do I,” said Logen, flexing his fingers. “So do I.” But he didn’t think it
wouldbe.
“Breakfastwillbereadysoon.”AndWellsleftthetwoofthemaloneonthe
balcony.
Theystoodthereinsilenceforamoment,thenthewindblewupcoldfromthe
valley.Quaishiveredandpulledhisblankettightaroundhim.“Outthere…by
thelake.Youcouldhaveleftme.Iwouldhaveleftme.”
Logen frowned. Time was he’d have done it and never given it a second
thought, but things change. “I’ve left a lot of people, in my time. Reckon I’m
sickofthatfeeling.”
The apprentice pursed his lips and looked out at the valley, the woods, the
distantmountains.“Ineversawamankilledbefore.”
“You’relucky.”
“You’veseenalotofdeath,then?”
Logen winced. In his youth, he would have loved to answer that very
question.Hecouldhavebragged,andboasted,andlistedtheactionshe’dbeen
in,theNamedMenhe’dkilled.Hecouldn’tsaynowwhenthepridehaddried
up.Ithadhappenedslowly.Asthewarsbecamebloodier,asthecausesbecame
excuses,asthefriendswentbacktothemud,onebyone.Logenrubbedathis
ear,feltthebignotchthatTulDuru’sswordhadmade,longago.Hecouldhave
stayedsilent.Butforsomereason,hefelttheneedtobehonest.
“I’ve fought in three campaigns,” he began. “In seven pitched battles. In
countless raids and skirmishes and desperate defences, and bloody actions of
everykind.I’vefoughtinthedrivingsnow,theblastingwind,themiddleofthe
night.I’vebeenfightingallmylife,oneenemyoranother,onefriendoranother.
I’veknownlittleelse.I’veseenmenkilledforaword,foralook,fornothingat
all.Awomantriedtostabmeonceforkillingherhusband,andIthrewherdown
awell.Andthat’sfarfromtheworstofit.Lifeusedtobecheapasdirttome.
Cheaper.
“I’vefoughttensinglecombatsandIwonthemall,butIfoughtonthewrong
sideandforallthewrongreasons.I’vebeenruthless,andbrutal,andacoward.
I’vestabbed men intheback, burnedthem,drowned them,crushedthem with
rocks,killedthemasleep,unarmed,orrunningaway.I’verunawaymyselfmore
than once. I’ve pissed myself with fear. I’ve begged for my life. I’ve been
wounded, often, and badly, and screamed and cried like a baby whose mother
took her tit away. I’ve no doubt the world would be a better place if I’d been
killedyearsago,butIhaven’tbeen,andIdon’tknowwhy.”
Helookeddownathishands,pinkandcleanonthestone.“Therearefewmen
withmorebloodontheirhandsthanme.None,thatIknowof.TheBloody-Nine
theycallme,myenemies,andthere’salotof’em.Alwaysmoreenemies,and
fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now,
always,likemyshadow,andlikemyshadowIcanneverbefreeofit.Ishould
neverbefreeofit.I’veearnedit.I’vedeservedit.I’vesoughtitout.Suchismy
punishment.”
And that was all. Logen breathed a deep, ragged sigh and stared out at the
lake.Hecouldn’tbringhimselftolookatthemanbesidehim,didn’twanttosee
theexpressiononhisface.Whowantstolearnhe’skeepingcompanywiththe
Bloody-Nine?Amanwho’swroughtmoredeaththantheplague,andwithless
regret. They could never be friends now, not with all those corpses between
them.
ThenhefeltQuai’shandclaphimontheshoulder.“Well,thereitis,”hesaid,
grinningfromeartoear,“butyousavedme,andI’mrightgratefulforit!”
“I’vesavedamanthisyear,andonlykilledfour.I’mbornagain.”Andthey
bothlaughedforawhile,anditfeltgood.
“So,Malacus,Iseeyouarebackwithus.”
They turned, Quai stumbling on his blanket and looking a touch sick. The
FirstoftheMagiwasstandinginthedoorway,dressedinalongwhiteshirtwith
sleevesrolleduptotheelbow.Hestilllookedmorelikeabutcherthanawizard
toLogen.
“MasterBayaz…er…Iwasjustcomingtoseeyou,”stutteredQuai.
“Indeed? How fortunate for us both then, that I have come to you.” The
Magus stepped out onto the balcony. “It occurs to me that a man who is well
enoughtotalk,andlaugh,andventureoutofdoors,isdoubtlesswellenoughto
read,andstudy,andexpandhistinymind.Whatwouldyousaytothat?”
“Doubtless…”
“Doubtless,yes!Tellme,howareyourstudiesprogressing?”
The wretched apprentice looked utterly confused. “They have been
somewhat…interrupted?”
“YoumadenoprogresswithJuvens’PrinciplesofArtwhileyouwerelostin
thehillsinbadweather?”
“Er…noprogress…no.”
“And your knowledge of the histories. Did that develop far, while Master
Ninefingerswascarryingyoubacktothelibrary?”
“Er…Imustconfess…itdidn’t.”
“Your exercises and meditations though, surely you have been practising
those,whileunconsciousthispastweek?”
“Well,er…no,theunconsciousnesswas…er…”
“So,tellme,wouldyousaythatyouareaheadofthegame,sotospeak?Or
haveyourstudiesfallenbehind?”
Quaistareddownatthefloor.“TheywerebehindwhenIleft.”
“Thenperhapsthenyoucouldtellmewhereyouplantospendtheday?”
Theapprenticelookeduphopefully.“Atmydesk?”
“Excellent!” Bayaz smiled wide. “I was about to suggest it, but you have
anticipated me! Your keenness to learn does you much credit!” Quai nodded
furiously and hurried towards the door, the hem of his blanket trailing on the
flags.
“Bethodiscoming,”murmuredBayaz.“Hewillbeheretoday.”Logen’ssmile
vanished,histhroatfeltsuddenlytight.Herememberedtheirlastmeetingwell
enough.StretchedoutonhisfaceonthefloorofBethod’shallatCarleon,beaten
andbrokenandwellchainedup,dribblingbloodintothestrawandhopingthe
end wouldn’t be too long coming. Then, no reason given, they’d let him go.
FlunghimoutthegateswiththeDogman,Threetrees,theWeakestandtherest,
andtoldhimnevertocomeback.Never.Thefirst timeBethodevershowed a
grainofmercy,andthelast,Logendidn’tdoubt.
“Today?”heasked,tryingtokeephisvoiceeven.
“Yes, and soon. The King of the Northmen. Hah! The arrogance of him!”
BayazglancedsidelongatLogen.“Heiscomingtoaskmeforafavour,andI
wouldlikeyoutobethere.”
“Hewon’tlikethat.”
“Exactly.”
Thewindfeltcolderthanbefore.IfLogenneversawBethodagainitwouldbe
fartoosoon.Butsomethingshavetobedone.It’sbettertodothem,thantolive
withthefearofthem.That’swhatLogen’sfatherwouldhavesaid.Sohetooka
deepbreathandsquaredhisshoulders.“I’llbethere.”
“Excellent.Thenthereisbutonethingmissing.”
“What?”
Bayazsmirked.“Youneedaweapon.”
It was dry in the cellars beneath the library. Dry and dark and very, very
confusing.They’dgoneupand down steps, around corners, past doors, taking
hereorthereaturningtotheleftorright.Theplacewasawarren.Logenhoped
hedidn’tlosesightofthewizard’sflickeringtorch,orhecouldeasilybestuck
beneaththelibraryforever.
“Drydownhere, niceanddry,”Bayaz wassayingto himself,voiceechoing
downthepassagewayandmergingwiththeirflappingfootfalls.“There’snothing
worsethandampforbooks.”Hepulledupsuddenlynexttoaheavydoor.“Or
forweapons.”Hegavethedooragentleshoveanditswungsilentlyopen.
“Lookatthat!Hasn’tbeenopenedforyears,butthehingesstillmovesmooth
as butter! That’s craftsmanship for you! Why does no one care about
craftsmanshipanymore?”Bayazsteppedoverthethresholdwithoutwaitingfor
ananswer,andLogenfollowedclosebehind.
Thewizard’storchlitupalong,lowhallwithwallsofroughstoneblocks,the
farendlostinshadows.Theroomwaslinedwith racks and shelves, the floor
litteredwithboxesandstands,everythingheapedandburstingwithamadarray
ofarmsandarmour.Bladesandspikesandpolishedsurfacesofwoodandmetal
caught the flickering torchlight as Bayaz paced slowly across the stone floor,
weavingbetweentheweaponsandcastingaround.
“Quiteacollection,”mutteredLogen,ashefollowedtheMagusthroughthe
clutter.
“A load of old junk mostly, but there should be a few things worth the
finding.” Bayaz took a helmet from a suit of ancient, gilded plate armour and
lookeditoverwithafrown.“Whatdoyoumakeofthat?”
“I’veneverbeenmuchforarmour.”
“No,youdon’tstrikemeasthetype.Allverywellonhorseback,Idaresay,
butit’sapaininthearsewhenyou’veajourneytomakeonfoot.”Hetossedthe
helmetbackontoitsstand,thenstoodtherestaringatthearmour,lostinthought.
“Onceyou’vegotiton,howdoyoupiss?”
Logenfrowned.“Er…”hesaid,butBayazwasalreadymovingoffdownthe
room,andtakingthelightwithhim.
“Youmusthaveusedafewweaponsinyourtime,MasterNinefingers.What’s
yourpreferencefor?”
“I’veneverreallyhadone,”saidLogen,duckingunderarustyhalberdleaning
outfromarack.“Achampionneverknowswhathemightbecalledontofight
with.”
“Of course, of course.” Bayaz took up a long spear with a vicious barbed
head, and wafted it around a bit. Logen stepped back cautiously. “Deadly
enough.Youcouldkeepamanatbaywithoneofthese.Butamanwithaspear
needsalotoffriends,andtheyallneedspearsaswell.”Bayazshoveditbackon
therackandmovedon.
“Thislooksfearsome.” The Magus tookholdofthe gnarled shaft of ahuge
double-bladed axe. “Shit!” he said as he lifted it up, veins bulging out of his
neck. “It’s heavy enough!” He set it down with a thump, making the rack
wobble.“Youcouldkillamanwiththat!Youcouldcuthimcleaninhalf!Ifhe
wasstandingstill.”
“This is better,” said Logen. It was a simple, solid-looking sword, in a
scabbardofweatheredbrownleather.
“Oh,yesindeed.Much,muchbetter.ThatbladeistheworkofKanedias,the
Master Maker himself.” Bayaz handed his torch to Logen and took the long
swordfromtherack.
“Has it ever occurred to you, Master Ninefingers, that a sword is different
fromother weapons?Axesand maces andso forth arelethalenough, butthey
hangonthebeltlikedumbbrutes.”Herananeyeoverthehilt,plaincoldmetal
scored with faint grooves for a good grip, glinting in the torchlight. “But a
sword…aswordhasavoice.”
“Eh?”
“Sheathedithaslittletosay,tobesure,butyouneedonlyputyourhandon
thehilt anditbegins towhisperin yourenemy’sear.” Hewrappedhis fingers
tightlyroundthegrip.“Agentlewarning.Awordofcaution.Doyouhearit?”
Logennoddedslowly.“Now,”murmuredBayaz,“compareittotheswordhalf
drawn.” A foot length of metal hissed out of the sheath, a single silver letter
shiningnearthehilt.Thebladeitselfwasdull,butitsedgehadacoldandfrosty
glint. “It speaks louder, does it not? It hisses a dire threat. It makes a deadly
promise.Doyouhearit?”
Logennoddedagain,hiseyefastenedonthatglitteringedge.“Nowcompareit
totheswordfulldrawn.”Bayazwhippedthelongbladefromitssheathwitha
faintringingsound,broughtitupsothatthepointhoveredinchesfromLogen’s
face.“Itshoutsnow,doesitnot?Itscreamsdefiance!Itbellowsachallenge!Do
youhearit?”
“Mmm,” said Logen, leaning back and staring slightly crosseyed at the
shiningpointofthesword.
Bayaz let it drop and slid it gently back into its scabbard, something to
Logen’srelief.“Yes,aswordhasavoice.Axesandmacesandsofortharelethal
enough,butaswordisasubtleweapon,andsuitedtoasubtleman.YouIthink,
MasterNinefingers,aresubtlerthanyouappear.”LogenfrownedasBayazheld
theswordouttohim.Hehadbeenaccusedofmanythingsinhislife,butnever
subtlety.“Consideritagift.Mythanksforyourgoodmanners.”
Logen thought about it a moment. He hadn’t owned a proper weapon since
beforehecrossedthemountains,andhewasn’tkeentotakeoneupagain.But
Bethodwascoming,andsoon.Bettertohaveit,andnotwantit,thantowantit,
andnothaveit.Far,farbetter.Youhavetoberealisticaboutthesethings.
“Thankyou,”saidLogen,takingtheswordfromBayazandhandinghimback
thetorch.“Ithink.”
Asmallfirecrackledinthegrate,andtheroomwaswarm,andhomely,and
comfortable.
ButLogendidn’tfeelcomfortable.Hestoodbythewindow,staringdowninto
thecourtyardbelow,nervousandtwitchyandscared,likeheusedtobebeforea
fight.Bethodwascoming.Hewassomewhereoutthere.Ontheroadthroughthe
woods,orpassingbetweenthestones,oracrossthebridge,orthroughthegate.
TheFirstoftheMagididn’tseemtense.Hesatcomfortablyinhischair,his
feetuponthetablenexttoalongwoodenpipe,leafingthroughasmallwhite-
boundbookwithafaintsmileonhisface.Noonehadeverlookedcalmer,and
thatonlymadeLogenfeelworse.
“Isitgood?”askedLogen.
“Iswhatgood?”
“Thebook.”
“Oh yes. It is the best of books. It is Juvens’ Principles of Art, the very
cornerstone of my order.” Bayaz waved his free hand at the shelves which
coveredtwowalls,andthehundredsofotheridenticalbookslinedneatlyupon
them.“It’sallthesame.Onebook.”
“One?”Logen’seyesscannedacrossthethick,whitespines.“That’sapretty
damnlongbook.Haveyoureaditall?”
Bayazchuckled.“Oh yes, many times.Everyoneof my order must readit,
andeventuallymaketheirowncopy.”Heturnedthebookaround,sothatLogen
couldsee.Thepageswerethicklycoveredwithlinesofneat,butunintelligible
symbols.“Iwrotethese,longago.Youshouldreadittoo.”
“I’mreallynotmuchofareader.”
“No?”askedBayaz.“Shame.”Heflickedoverthepageandcarriedon.
“Whataboutthatone?”Therewasanotherbook,sataloneonitssideonthe
verytopofoneoftheshelves,alarge,blackbook,scarredandbattered-looking.
“ThatwrittenbythisJuvensaswell?”
Bayaz frowned up at it. “No. His brother wrote that.” He got up from his
chair,stretchedupandpulleditdown.“Thisisadifferentkindofknowledge.”
He dragged open his desk drawer, slid the black book inside and slammed it
shut. “Best left alone,” he muttered, sitting back down and opening up the
PrinciplesofArtagain.
Logentookadeepbreath,puthislefthandonthehiltofthesword,feltthe
coldmetalpressingintohispalm.Thefeelofitwasanythingbutreassuring.He
letgoandturnedbacktothewindow,frowningdownintothecourtyard.Hefelt
hisbreathcatchinhisthroat.
“Bethod.He’shere.”
“Good,good,”mutteredBayazabsently.“Whodoeshehavewithhim?”
Logen peered at the three figures in the courtyard. “Scale,” he said with a
scowl. “And a woman. I don’t recognise her. They’re dismounting.” Logen
lickedhisdrylips.“They’recomingin.”
“Yes,yes,”murmuredBayaz,“thatishowonegetstoameeting.Trytocalm
yourself,myfriend.Breathe.”
Logenleanedbackagainstthewhitewashedplaster,armsfolded,andtooka
deep breath. It didn’t help. The hard knot of worry in his chest only pressed
harder. He could hear heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. The doorknob
turned.
Scalewasthefirstintotheroom.Bethod’seldestsonhadalwaysbeenburly,
evenasaboy,butsinceLogenlastsawhimhe’dgrownmonstrous.Hisrockofa
head seemed almost an afterthought on top of all that brawn, his skull a good
dealnarrowerthanhisneck.Hehadagreatblockofjaw,aflatstubofanose,
and furious, bulging, arrogant little eyes. His thin mouth was twisted in a
constantsneer,muchlikehisyoungerbrotherCalder’s,buttherewaslessguile
here and a lot more violence. He had a heavy broadsword on his hip, and his
meatyhandwasneverfarfromitashegloweredatLogen,oozingmalicefrom
everypore.
Thewomancamenext.Shewasverytall,slenderandpale,almostill-looking.
HerslantingeyeswereasnarrowandcoldasScale’swerebulgingandwrathful,
and were surrounded with a quantity of dark paint, which made them look
narrower and colder still. There were golden rings on her long fingers, golden
braceletsonherthinarms,goldenchainsaroundherwhiteneck.Shesweptthe
roomwithherfrostyblueeyes,eachthingshenoticedseemingtolifthertonew
heightsofdisgustandcontempt.Firstthefurniture,thenthebooks,particularly
Logen,andBayazmostofall.
Theself-styledKingof theNorthmen camelast, andmore magnificentthan
ever,robedinrich,colouredclothandrarewhitefurs.Heworeaheavygolden
chain across his shoulders, a golden circlet round his head, set with a single
diamond,bigasabird’segg.HissmilingfacewasmoredeeplylinedthanLogen
remembered, his hair and beard touched with grey, but he was no less tall, no
lessvigorous,nolesshandsome,andhe’dgainedmuchofauthorityandwisdom
—ofmajestyeven.Helookedeveryinchagreatman,awiseman,ajustman.
HelookedeveryinchaKing.ButLogenknewbetter.
“Bethod!”saidBayaz,warmly,snappinghisbookshut.“Myoldfriend!You
canhardlyimaginewhatajoyitistoseeyouagain.”Heswunghisfeetoffthe
table,andgesturedatthegoldenchain,theflashingdiamond.“Andtoseeyouso
hugelyadvancedintheworld!Irememberthetimewasyouwerehappytovisit
me alone. But I suppose great men must be attended on, and I see you have
broughtsome… otherpeople.Yourcharmingson I know,ofcourse. Iseethat
you’vebeeneatingwellatleast,eh,Scale?”
“PrinceScale,”rumbledBethod’smonstrousson,hiseyespoppingouteven
more.
“Hmm,”saidBayaz,withaneyebrowraised.“Ihavenothadthepleasureof
meetingyourothercompanionbefore.”
“I am Caurib.” Logen blinked. The woman’s voice was the most beautiful
thinghe’d everheard. Calming,soothing, intoxicating.“I ama sorceress,”she
sang, tossing her head with a scornful smile. “A sorceress, from the utmost
north.”Logenstoodfrozen,hismouthhalfopen.Hishatredseepedaway.They
were all friends here. More than friends. He couldn’t take his eyes from her,
didn’twantto.Theothersintheroomhadfaded.Itwasasifshewasspeaking
onlytohim,andthefondestwishofhisheartwasthatsheshouldneverstop—
But Bayaz only laughed. “A real sorceress, and you have the golden voice!
Howwonderful!It’salongtimesinceIheardthatone,butitwillnotserveyou
here.” Logen shook his head clear and his hatred rushed back in, hot and
reassuring. “Tell me, does one have to study, to become a sorceress? Or is it
simplyaquestionofjewellery,andadealofpaintabouttheface?”Caurib’seyes
narrowedtodeadlyblueslits,buttheFirstoftheMagididn’tgivehertimeto
speak.“Andfromtheutmostnorth,imaginethat!”Heshiveredslightly.“Itmust
becoldupthere,thistimeofyear.Roughonthenipples,eh?Haveyoucometo
usforthewarmweather,oristheresomethingelse?”
“I go where my King commands,” she hissed, pointed chin lifting a little
higher.
“Your King?” asked Bayaz, staring about the room as though there must be
someoneelsethere,hidinginthecorner.
“My father is King of the Northmen now!” snarled Scale. He sneered at
Logen.“Youshouldkneeltohim,Bloody-Nine!”HesneeredatBayaz.“Andso
shouldyou,oldman!”
The First of the Magi spread his hands in apology. “Oh I’m afraid I don’t
kneeltoanyone.Toooldforit.Stiffnessinthejoints,yousee.”
Scale’sbootthumpedheavyonthefloorashebegantomoveforward,acurse
half out of his mouth, but his father placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Come
now,myson,thereisnoneedforkneelinghere.”Hisvoicewascoldandevenas
freshly fallen snow. “It is not fitting that we bicker. Are our interests not the
same? Peace? Peace in the North? I have come only to ask for your wisdom,
Bayaz,asIdidindayspast.Isitsowrong,toseekthehelpofanoldfriend?”No
one had ever sounded more genuine, more reasonable, more trustworthy. But
Logenknewbetter.
“Butdowe nothavepeace intheNorth already?”Bayazleanedbackinhis
chair,handsclaspedbeforehim.“Arethefeudsnotallended?Wereyounotthe
victor? Do you not have everything you wanted, and more? King of the
Northmen,eh?WhathelpcouldIpossiblyofferyou?”
“Ionlysharemycounselwithfriends,Bayaz,andyouhavebeennofriendto
meof late. Youturn away my messengers,myson even. You play host tomy
swornenemies.”HefrownedtowardsLogen,andhislipcurled.“Doyouknow
whatmannerofthingthisis?TheBloody-Nine?Ananimal!Acoward!Anoath-
breaker!Isthatthekindofcompanythatyouprefer?”
BethodsmiledafriendlysmileasheturnedbacktoBayaz,buttherewasno
missing the threat in his words. “I fear the time has come for you to decide
whetheryouarewithme,oragainstme.Therecanbenomiddlegroundinthis.
Eitheryouareapartofmyfuture,orarelicofthepast.Yoursisthechoice,my
friend.” Logen had seen Bethod give such choices before. Some men had
yielded.Theresthadgonebacktothemud.
ButBayaz,itseemed,wasnottoberushed.“Whichshallitbe?”Hereached
forwardslowlyandtookhispipefromthetable.“Thefuture,orthepast?”He
strolledovertothefireandsquatteddown,backturnedtohisthreeguests,took
astickfromthegrate,setittothebowl,andpuffedslowlyaway.Itseemedto
takeanageforhimtogetthedamnthinglit.“With,oragainst?”hemusedashe
returnedtohischair.
“Well?”demandedBethod.
Bayaz stared up at the ceiling and blew out a thin stream of yellow smoke.
Caurib looked the old Magus up and down with icy contempt, Scale twitched
with impatience, Bethod waited, eyes a little narrowed. Finally, Bayaz gave a
heavysigh.“Verywell.Iamwithyou.”
Bethodsmiledwide,andLogenfeltalurchofterribledisappointment.Hehad
hopedforbetterfromtheFirstoftheMagi.Damnfoolish,howheneverlearned
tostophoping.
“Good,” murmured the King of the Northmen. “I knew you would see my
way of thinking, in the end.” He slowly licked his lips, like a hungry man
watchinggoodfoodbroughtin.“ImeantoinvadeAngland.”
Bayazraisedaneyebrow,thenhestartedtochuckle,thenhethumpedthetable
withhisfist.“Ohthat’sgood,that’sverygood!Youfindpeacedoesnotsuityour
kingdom, eh, Bethod? The clans are not used to being friends, are they? They
hateeachotherandtheyhateyou,amIright?”
“Well,”smiledBethod,“theyaresomewhatrestive.”
“I bet they are! But send them to war with the Union, then they will be a
nation, eh? United against the common enemy, to be sure. And if you win?
You’ll be the man who did the impossible! The man who drove the damn
southernersoutoftheNorth!You’llbe loved,or atany rate,more fearedthan
ever. If you lose, well, at least you keep the clans busy a while, and sap their
strengthintheprocess.Iremembernow why I used to like you! An excellent
plan!”
Bethod looked smug. “Of course. And we will not lose. The Union is soft,
arrogant,unprepared.Withyourhelp—”
“Myhelp?”interruptedBayaz.“Youpresumetoomuch.”
“Butyou—”
“Oh,that.”TheMagusshrugged.“Iamaliar.”
Bayazlifted hispipeto hismouth.There wasamoment ofstunnedsilence.
Then Bethod’s eyes narrowed. Caurib’s widened. Scale’s heavy brow crinkled
withconfusion.Logen’ssmileslowlyreturned.
“Aliar?”hissedthesorceress.“Andmorebesides,sayI!”Hervoicestillhad
the singing note about it, but it was a different song now—hard, shrill,
murderous sharp. “You old worm! Hiding here behind your walls, and your
servants, and your books! Your time is long past, fool! You are nothing but
words and dust!” The First of the Magi calmly pursed his lips and blew out
smoke.“Wordsanddust,oldworm!Well,weshallsee.Wewillcometoyour
library!”Thewizardsethispipecarefullydownonthetable,alittlesmokestill
curling up out of the bowl. “We will come back to your library, and put your
wallstothehammer,yourservantstothesword,andyourbookstothefire!To
the—”
“Silence.”Bayazwasfrowningnow,deepereventhanhehadatCalder,days
beforeintheyardoutside.AgainLogenfeltthedesiretostepaway,butstronger
byfar.Hefoundhimselfglancingaroundtheroomforaplacetohide.Caurib’s
lipsstillmoved,butonlyameaninglesscroakcameout.
“Break my walls, would you?” murmured Bayaz. His grey brows drew
inwards,deep,hardgroovescuttingintothebridgeofhisnose.
“Killmyservants,willyou?”askedBayaz.Theroomhad turnedvery chill,
despitethelogsonthefire.
“Burn my books, say you?” thundered Bayaz. “You say too much, witch!”
Caurib’s knees buckled. Her white hand clawed at the door-frame, chains and
banglesjinglingtogetherassheslumpedagainstthewall.
“Wordsanddust,amI?”Bayazthrustupfourfingers.“Fourgiftsyouhadof
me, Bethod—the sun in winter, a storm in summer, and two things you could
neverhaveknown,butformyArt.Whathaveyougivenmeinreturn,eh?This
lakeandthisvalley,whichwereminealready,andbutoneotherthing.”Bethod’s
eyes flicked across to Logen, then back. “You owe me still, yet you send
messengers to me, you make demands, you presume to command me? That is
notmyideaofmanners.”
Scale had caught up now, and his eyes were near popping out of his head.
“Manners?WhatdoesaKingneedwithmanners?AKingtakeswhathewants!”
Andhetookaheavysteptowardsthetable.
Now Scale was big enough and cruel enough, to be sure. Most likely you
could never find a better man for kicking someone once he was down. But
Logen wasn’t down, not yet, and he was good and sick of listening to this
bloatedfool.HesteppedforwardtoblockScale’spath,restinghishandonthe
hiltofhissword.“Farenough.”
ThePrincelookedLogenoverwithhisbulgingeyes,helduphismeatyfist,
squeezing his great fingers so the knuckles turned white. “Don’t tempt me
Ninefingers, you broken cur! Your day’s long past! I could crush you like an
egg!”
“You can try it, but I’ve no mind to let you. You know my work. One step
moreandI’llsettoworkonyou,youfuckingswollenpig.”
“Scale!” snapped Bethod. “There is nothing for us here, that much is plain.
We are leaving.” The hulking prince locked his great lump of a jaw, his huge
handsclenchingandunclenchingbyhissides,gloweringatLogenwiththemost
bestialhatredimaginable.Thenhesneered,andslowlybackedaway.
Bayazleanedforward.“YousaidyouwouldbringpeacetotheNorth,Bethod,
and what have you done? You have piled war on war! The land is bled white
with your pride and your brutality! King of the Northmen? Hah! You’re not
worththehelping!Andtothink,Ihadsuchhighhopesforyou!”
Bethodonlyfrowned,hiseyesascoldasthediamondonhisforehead.“You
have made an enemy of me, Bayaz, and I am a bad enemy to have. The very
worst.Youwillyetregretthisday’swork.”HeturnedhisscornonLogen.“As
foryou,Ninefingers,youwillhavenomoremercyfromme!Everymaninthe
North will be your enemy now! You will be hated, and hunted, and cursed,
whereveryougo!Iwillseetoit!”
Logenshrugged.Therewasnothingnewthere.Bayazstoodupfromhischair.
“You’vesaidyourpiece,nowtakeyourwitchandgetyougone!”
Cauribstumbledfrom the room first, stillgaspingforair. Scale gaveLogen
one last scowl, then he turned and lumbered away. The so-called King of the
Northmenwasthelasttoleave,noddingslowlyandsweepingtheroomwitha
deadly glare. As their footsteps faded down the corridor Logen took a deep
breath,steadiedhimself,andlethishanddropfromthehiltofthesword.
“So,”saidBayazbrightly,“thatwentwell.”
ARoadBetweenTwoDentists
Pastmidnight,anditwasdarkintheMiddleway.Darkanditsmelledbad.It
alwayssmelledbaddownbythedocks:oldsaltwater,rottenfish,tarandsweat
andhorseshit.Inafewhourstimethisstreetwouldbethrongingwithnoiseand
activity. Tradesmen shouting, labourers cursing under their loads, merchants
hurryingtoandfro,ahundredcartsandwagonsrumblingoverthedirtycobbles.
Therewouldbeanendlesstideofpeople,throngingofftheshipsandthronging
on,peoplefromeverypartoftheworld,wordsshoutedineverylanguageunder
thesun. But atnightit was still.Stilland silent.Silentas the grave,andeven
worsesmelling.
“It’s down here,” said Severard, strolling towards the shadowy mouth of a
narrowalley,wedgedinbetweentwoloomingwarehouses.
“Didhegiveyoumuchtrouble?”askedGloktaasheshuffledpainfullyafter.
“Nottoomuch.”ThePracticaladjustedhismask,lettingsomeairinbehind.
Must get very clammy under there, all that breath and sweat. No wonder
Practicals tend to have bad tempers. “He gave Rews’ mattress some trouble,
stabbeditalltobits.ThenFrostknockedhimonthehead.Funnything.When
thatboyknocksamanonthehead,thetroubleallgoesoutofhim.”
“WhataboutRews?”
“Still alive.” The light from Severard’s lamp passed over a pile of putrid
rubbish.Gloktaheardratssqueakinginthedarknessastheyscurriedaway.
“Youknowallthebestneighbourhoods,don’tyouSeverard?”
“That’s what you pay me for, Inquisitor.” His dirty black boot squelched,
heedless,intothestinkingmush.Gloktalimpedgingerlyaroundit,holdingthe
hem of his coat up in his free hand. “I grew up round here,” continued the
Practical.“Folkdon’taskquestions.”
“Exceptforus.”Wealwayshavequestions.
“Course.”Severardgaveamuffledgiggle.“We’retheInquisition.”Hislamp
picked out a dented iron gate, the high wall above topped with rusty spikes.
“This is it.” Indeed, and what an auspicious-looking address it is. The gate
evidently didn’t see much use, its brown hinges squealed in protest as the
Practical unlocked it and heaved it open. Glokta stepped awkwardly over a
puddlethathadbuiltupinarutintheground,cursingashiscoattrailedinthe
foulwater.
ThehingesscreamedagainasSeverardwrestledtheheavygateshut,forehead
creasingwiththeeffort,thenheliftedthehoodonhislantern,lightingupawide
ornamentalcourtyard,chokedwithrubbleandweedsandbrokenwood.
“Andhereweare,”saidSeverard.
Itmustoncehavebeenamagnificentbuilding,initsway.Howmuchwould
allthosewindowshavecost?Howmuchallthatdecorativestonework?Visitors
musthavebeenawedbyitsownerswealth,ifnothisgoodtaste.But nomore.
The windows were blinded with rotting boards, the swirls of masonry were
chokedwithmossandcakedwithbirddroppings.Thethinlayerofgreenmarble
on the pillars was cracked and flaking, exposing the rotten plaster underneath.
Allwascrumbled,brokenanddecayed.Fallenlumpsofthefaçadewerestrewn
everywhere,castinglongshadowsonthehighwallsoftheyard.Halftheheadof
abrokencherubstaredmournfullyupatGloktaashelimpedpast.
He had been expecting some dingy warehouse, some dank cellar near the
water.“Whatisthisplace?”heasked,staringupattherottingpalace.
“Some merchant built it, years ago.” Severard kicked a lump of broken
sculptureoutofhiswayanditclatteredoffintothedarkness.“Arichman,very
rich. Wanted to live near his warehouses and his wharves, keep one eye on
business.”Hestrolledupthecrackedandmossystepstothehuge,flakingfront
door.“Hethoughttheideamightcatchon,buthowcouldit?Who’dwanttolive
roundhereiftheydidn’thaveto?Thenhelostallhismoney,asmerchantsdo.
Hiscreditorshavehadtroublefindingabuyer.”
Glokta stared at a broken fountain, leaning at an angle and half filled with
stagnantwater.“Hardlysurprising.”
Severard’s lamp barely lit the cavernous space of the entrance lull. Two
enormous,curved,slumpingstaircasesloomedoutofthegloomoppositethem.
Awidebalconyranaroundthewallsatfirstfloorlevel,butagreatsectionofit
hadcollapsed and crashedthroughthe dampfloorboardsbelow, so thatoneof
thestairwaysended,amputated,hangingintheemptyair.Thedampfloorwas
strewnwithlumpsofbrokenplaster,fallenroofingslates,shatteredtimbersand
a spattering of grey bird droppings. The night sky peered in through several
yawningholesintheroof.Gloktacouldhearthevaguesoundofpigeonscooing
inamongsttheshadowyrafters,andsomewheretheslowdrippingofwater.
Whataplace. Glokta stifled a smile. It reminds me of myself, in a way. We
bothweremagnificentonce,andwebothhaveourbestdaysfarbehindus.
“It’s big enough, wouldn’t you say?” asked Severard, picking his way in
amongsttherubbletowardsayawningdoorwayunderthebrokenstaircase,his
lampcastingstrange,slantingshadowsashemoved.
“Oh, I’d have thought so, unless we get more than a thousand prisoners at
once.”Gloktashuffledafterhim,leaningheavilyonhiscane,worriedabouthis
footingontheslimyfloor.I’llslipandfallrightonmyarse,righthereinallthis
birdshit.Thatwouldbeperfect.
Thearchopenedinto acrumbling hall,rottenplasterfallingawayinsheets,
showingthe dampbricks beneath.Gloomy doorwayspassed byoneitherside.
The sort of place that would make a man nervous, if he was prone to
nervousness.Hemightimagineunpleasantthingsinthesechambers,justbeyond
thelamplight,andhorribleactstakingplaceinthedarkness.Helookedupat
Severard, ambling jauntily along in front, tuneless whistling vaguely audible
from behind his mask, and frowned. But we are not prone to nervousness.
Perhapswearetheunpleasantthings.Perhapstheactsareours.
“Howbigisthisplace?”askedGloktaashehobbledalong.
“Thirty-fiverooms,notcountingtheservant’squarters.”
“Apalace.Howthehelldidyoufindit?”
“Iusedto sleephere,some nights.Aftermy motherdied.I foundawayin.
Theroofwasstillmostlyonbackthen,anditwasadryplacetosleep.Dryand
safe.Moreorless.” Ah, what a hard life it’sbeen.Thugandtorturer is a real
stepupforyou,isn’tit?Everymanhashisexcuses,andthemoreviletheman
becomes,themoretouchingthestoryhastobe.Whatismystorynow,Iwonder?
“Everresourceful,eh,Severard?”
“That’swhatyoupaymefor,Inquisitor.”
Theypassedintoawidespace:adrawingroom,astudy,aball-roomeven,it
wasbigenough.Oncebeautifulpanelsweresaggingfromthewalls,coveredin
mould and flaking gilt paint. Severard moved over to one, still attached, and
pusheditfirmlyatoneside.Therewasasoftclickasitswungopen,revealinga
darkarchwaybeyond. Ahiddendoor? Howdelightful.Howsinister. Howvery
appropriate.
“Thisplaceisasfullofsurprisesasyouare,”saidGlokta,limpingpainfully
towardstheopening.
“Andyouwouldn’tbelievethepriceIgot.”
“Weboughtthis?”
“Ohno.Idid.WithRews’money.AndnowI’mrentingittoyou.”Severard’s
eyessparkledinthelamplight.“It’sagoldmine!”
“Hah!”laughedGlokta,asheshuffledcarefullydownthesteps.Allthis,anda
headforbusinesstoo.PerhapsI’llbeworkingforArchLectorSeverardoneof
thesedays.Strangerthingshavehappened.Glokta’sshadowloomedoutahead
ofhimintothedarknessashelabouredcrab-likedownthesteps,hisrighthand
feelingoutthegapsbetweentheroughstoneblockstolendhimsomesupport.
“Thecellarsgoonformiles,”mutteredSeverardfrombehind.“Wehaveour
ownprivateaccesstothecanals,and to the sewers too, if you’re interested in
sewers.” They passed a dark opening on their left, then another on their right,
alwaysgoingslowlydownwards.“Frosttellsmeyoucangetallthewayfrom
heretotheAgriont,withoutoncecomingupforair.”
“Thatcouldbeuseful.”
“I’dsayso,ifyoucanstandthesmell.”
Severard’s lamp found a heavy door with a small, barred opening. “Home
again,” he said, and gave four quick knocks. A moment later Practical Frost’s
maskedfaceloomedabruptlyoutofthedarknessatthelittlewindow.“Onlyus.”
Thealbino’seyesshowednosignofwarmthorrecognition.Butthentheynever
do.Heavyboltsslidbackontheothersideofthedoor,anditswungsmoothly
open.
There was a table and chair, and fresh torches on the walls, but they were
unlit.Itmusthavebeenpitchblackinhereuntilourlittlelamparrived.Glokta
looked over at the albino. “Have you just been sitting here in the dark?” The
hulking Practical shrugged, and Glokta shook his head. “Sometimes I worry
aboutyou,PracticalFrost,Ireallydo.”
“He’s down here,” said Severard, ambling off down the hall, heels making
clickingechoesonthestoneflagsofthefloor.Thismustoncehavebeenawine
cellar: there were several barrel-vaulted chambers leading off to either side,
sealedwithheavygratings.
“Glokta!”SalemRews’ fingerswere grippedtightlyroundthebars,hisface
pressedupbetweenthem.
Gloktastoppedinfrontofthecellandrestedhisthrobbingleg.“Rews,how
areyou?Ihardlyexpectedtoseeyouagainsosoon.”Hehadlostweightalready,
hisskinwasslackandpale,stillmarkedwithfadingbruises.Hedoesnotlook
well,notwellatall.
“What’shappening,Glokta?Please,whyamIhere?”
Well,where’stheharm?“ItseemstheArchLectorstillhasauseforyou.He
wantsyoutogiveevidence.”Gloktaleanedtowardsthebars.“BeforetheOpen
Council,”hewhispered.
Rewsgrewpalerstill.“Thenwhat?”
“We’llsee.”Angland,Rews,Angland.
“WhatifIrefuse?”
“Refuse the Arch Lector?” Glokta chuckled. “No, no, no, Rews. You don’t
wanttodoathinglikethat.”HeturnedawayandshuffledafterSeverard.
“Forpity’ssake!It’sdarkdownhere!”
“You’ll get used to it!” Glokta called over his shoulder. Amazing, what one
cangetusedto.
Thelastofthechambersheldtheirlatestprisoner.Chaineduptoabracketin
thewall,nakedandbaggedofcourse.Hewasshortandstocky,tendingslightly
tofat,withfreshgrazesonhisknees,nodoubtfrombeingflungintotherough
stonecell.
“Sothisisourkiller,eh?”Themanrolledhimselfupontohiskneeswhenhe
heard Glokta’s voice, straining forward against his chains. A little blood had
soakedthroughthefrontofthebaganddriedthere,makingabrownstainonthe
canvas.
“A very unsavoury character indeed,” said Severard. “Doesn’t look too
fearsomenow,though,doeshe?”
“Theyneverdo,oncethey’rebroughttothis.Wheredowework?”
Severard’seyessmiledevenmore.“Oh,you’regoingtolikethis,Inquisitor.”
“It’satouchtheatrical,”saidGlokta,“butnonetheworseforthat.”
Theroomwaslargeandcircularwithadomedceiling,paintedwithacurious
muralthatranallthewayroundthecurvedwalls.Thebodyofamanlayonthe
grass, bleeding from many wounds, with a forest behind him. Eleven other
figures walked away, six on one side, five on the other, painted in profile,
awkwardly posed, dressed in white but their features indistinct. They faced
another man, arms stretched out, all in black and with a sea of colourfully
daubedfirebehindhim.Theharshlightfromsixbrightlampsdidn’tmakethe
worklookanybetter.Hardlyofthehighestquality,moredecorationthanart,but
theeffectisquitestriking,nonetheless.
“Noideawhatit’ssupposedtobe,”saidSeverard.
“TheMatherMa’er,”mumbledPracticalFrost.
“Of course,” said Glokta, staring up at the dark figure on the wall, and the
flames behind. “You should study your history, Practical Severard. This is the
Master Maker, Kanedias.” He turned and pointed to the dying man on the
oppositewall.“AndthisisgreatJuvens,whomhehaskilled.”Heswepthishand
over the figures in white. “And these are Juvens’ apprentices, the Magi,
marchingtoavengehim.”Ghoststories,fittoscarechildrenwith.
“What kind of man pays to have shit like this on the walls of his cellar?”
askedSeverard,shakinghishead.
“Oh,thissortofthingwasquitepopularatonetime.There’saroompainted
likethisinthepalace.Thisisacopy,andacheapone.”Gloktalookedupatthe
shadowedfaceofKanedias,staringgrimlydownintotheroom,andthebleeding
corpse on the opposite wall. “Still, there’s something quite unsettling about it,
isn’tthere?”Ortherewouldbe,ifIgaveadamn.“Blood,fire,death,vengeance.
Noideawhyyou’dwantitinthecellar.Perhapstherewassomethingdarkabout
ourfriendthemerchant.”
“There’s always something dark about a man with money,” said Severard.
“Whoarethesetwo?”
Glokta frowned, peering forward. Two small, vague figures could be seen
under the arms of the Maker, one on each side. “Who knows?” asked Glokta,
“maybethey’rehisPracticals.”
Severardlaughed.A vague exhalation of airevencamefrombehindFrost’s
mask, though his eyes showed no sign of amusement. My, my, he must be
thoroughlytickled.
Gloktashuffledtowardthetableinthecentreoftheroom.Twochairsfaced
eachotheracrossthesmooth,polishedsurface.Onewasaspare,hardaffairof
the sort you found in the cellars of the House of Questions, but the other was
altogethermoreimpressive,throne-likealmost,withsweepingarmsandahigh
back,upholsteredinbrownleather.
Gloktaplacedhiscaneagainstthetableandloweredhimselfcarefully,back
aching.“Oh,thisisanexcellentchair,”hebreathed,sinkingslowlybackintothe
softleather,stretchingouthisleg,throbbingfromthelongwalkhere.Therewas
aslightresistance.Helookedbeneaththetable.Therewasamatchingfootstool
there.
Glokta tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh this is fine! You shouldn’t
have!”Hesettledhislegdownonthestoolwithacomfortablesigh.
“It was the least we could do,” said Severard, folding his arms and leaning
against the wall next to the bleeding body of Juvens. “We did well from your
friendRews,verywell.You’vealwaysseenusright,andwedon’tforgetthat.”
“Unhhh,”saidFrost,noddinghishead.
“Youspoilme.”Gloktastrokedthepolishedwoodonthearmofthechair.My
boys.WherewouldIbewithoutyou?Backhomeinbedwithmotherfussingover
me,Isuppose,wonderinghowshe’lleverfindanicegirltomarrymenow.He
glancedovertheinstrumentsonthetable.Hiscasewasthere,ofcourse,anda
fewotherthings,well-used,butstillhighlyserviceable.Apairoflong-handled
tongsparticularlycaughthiseye.HeglancedupatSeverard.“Teeth?”
“Seemedagoodplacetostart.”
“Fair enough.” Glokta licked at his own empty gums then cracked his
knuckles,onebyone.“Teeth,itis.”
AssoonasthegagwasofftheassassinstartedscreamingattheminStyrian,
spitting and cursing, struggling pointlessly at his chains. Glokta didn’t
understandawordofit.ButIthinkIcatchthemeaning,moreorless.Something
veryoffensiveindeed,Iimagine.Somethingaboutourmothers,andsoon.ButI
amnoteasilyoffended.Hewasaroughlookingsort,facepockmarkedwithacne
scars,nosebrokenmorethanonceandbentoutofshape.Howdisappointing.I
was hoping the Mercers might have gone up-market on this occasion at least,
butthat’smerchantsforyou.Alwayslookingforthebargain.
PracticalFrostendedthetorrentofunintelligibleabusebypunchingtheman
heavilyinthestomach.That’lltakehisbreathawayforamoment.Longenough
togetthefirstwordin.
“Nowthen,”saidGlokta,“we’llhave noneof thatnonsense here.Weknow
you’reaprofessional,senttoblendinanddoajob.Youwouldn’tblendintoo
wellifyoucouldn’tevenspeakthelanguage,nowwouldyou?”
Theprisonerhad got his breathback.“Pox on all ofyou,youbastards!” he
gasped.
“Excellent! The common tongue will do nicely for our little chats. I have a
feelingwemayenduphavingseveral.Isthereanythingyouwouldliketoknow
aboutusbeforewebegin?Orshallwegetstraighttoit?”
TheprisonerstaredupsuspiciouslyatthepaintedfigureoftheMasterMaker,
loomingoverGlokta’shead.“WhereamI?”
“We’re just off the Middleway, down near the water.” Glokta winced as the
muscles in his leg suddenly convulsed. He stretched it out cautiously, waiting
untilheheardthekneeclickbeforehecarriedon.“Youknow,theMiddlewayis
one of the very arteries of the city, it runs straight through its heart, from the
Agrionttothesea.Itpassesthroughmanydifferentdistricts,hasallmannerof
notablebuildings.Someofthemostfashionableaddressesinthewholecityare
justupthelane.Tomethough,it’snothingbutaroadbetweentwodentists.”
Theprisoner’seyesnarrowed,then dartedoverthe instrumentsonthetable.
Butnomorecursing.Itseemsthementionofdentistryhasgothisattention.
“Upattheotherendoftheavenue,”andGloktapointedroughlynorthwards,
“inoneofthemostexpensivepartsoftown, opposite the public gardens, in a
beautifulwhitehouseintheveryshadowoftheAgriont,istheestablishmentof
MasterFarrad.Youmighthaveheardofhim?”
“Getfucked!”
Gloktaraisedhiseyebrows.Ifonly.“TheysaythatMasterFarradisthefinest
dentistintheworld.IbelievehecamefromGurkhuloriginally,butheescaped
the tyranny of the Emperor to join us in the Union and make a better life for
himself, saving our wealthiest citizens from the terrors of bad teeth. When I
camebackfrommyownlittlevisittotheSouth,myfamilysentmetohim,to
seeiftherewasanythinghecoulddoforme.”Gloktasmiledwide,showingthe
assassin the nature of the problem. “Of course there wasn’t. The Emperor’s
torturerssawtothat.Buthe’sadamnfinedentist,everyonesaysso.”
“Sowhat?”
Glokta let his smile fade. “Down at the other end of the Middleway, down
nearthesea,inamongstthefilthandthescumandtheslimeofthedocks,amI.
Therentsmaybecheaphereabouts,butIfeelconfidentthat,oncewehavespent
some time together, you will not think me any less talented than the esteemed
MasterFarrad.Itissimplythatmytalentslieinadifferentdirection.Thegood
Mastereasesthepainofhispatients,whileIamadentist…”andGloktaleaned
slowlyforward“…ofadifferentsort.”
Theassassinlaughedinhisface.“Doyouthinkyoucanscaremewithabag
ontheheadandanastypainting?”HelookedroundatFrostandSeverard.“You
crowdoffreaks?”
“DoIthinkwescareyou?Thethreeofus?”Gloktaallowedhimselfachuckle
at that. “Here you sit, alone, unarmed and thoroughly restrained. Who knows
whereyouarebutus,orcarestoknow?Youhavenohopeofdeliverance,orof
escape.We’reallprofessionalshere.Ithinkyoucanguesswhat’scoming,more
orless.”Gloktagrinnedasicklygrin.“Ofcoursewescareyou,don’tplaythe
fool.You hideitwell, I’ll admit,butthat can’tlast. Thetimewill come, soon
enough,whenyou’llbebeggingtogobackinthebag.”
“You’llgetnothingfromme,”growledtheassassin,staringhimstraightinthe
eye.“Nothing.”Tough.Atoughman.Butit’seasytoacttoughbeforethework
begins.Ishouldknow.
Glokta rubbed his leg gently. The blood was flowing nicely now, the pain
almostgone.“We’llkeepitsimpletobeginwith.Names,that’s allI want,for
now.Justnames.Whydon’twestartwithyours?Atleastyoucan’ttellusyou
don’tknowtheanswer.”
Theywaited.SeverardandFroststareddownattheprisoner,thegreeneyes
smiling,thepinkonesnot.Silence.
Glokta sighed. “Right then.” Frost planted his fists on either side of the
assassins jaw, started to squeeze until his teeth were forced apart. Severard
shoved the ends of the tongs in between and forced his jaws open, much too
wide for comfort. The assassin’s eyes bulged. Hurts, doesn’t it? But that’s
nothing,believeme.
“Watchhistongue,”saidGlokta,“wewanthimtalking.”
“Don’t worry,” muttered Severard, peering into the assassin’s mouth. He
duckedbacksuddenly.“Ugh!Hisbreathsmellslikeshit!”
Ashame,butIamhardlysurprised.Cleanlivingisrarelyapriorityforhired
killers. Glokta got slowly to his feet, limped round the table. “Now then,” he
murmured, one hand hovering over his instruments, “where to begin?” He
picked up a mounted needle and craned forward, his other hand gripped tight
aroundthetopofhiscane,probingcarefullyatthekiller’steeth.Notaprettyset,
tobesure.IdobelieveI’dratherhavemyteeththanhis.
“Dearme,theseareinaterriblestate.Rottenthroughandthrough.That’swhy
yourbreathstinkssobadly.There’snoexcuseforit,amanofyourage.”
“Haah!”yelpedtheprisonerasGloktatouchedanerve.Hetriedtospeak,but
withthetongsinplacehemadelesssensethanPracticalFrost.
“Quietnow,you’vehadyourchancetotalk.Perhapsyou’llgetanotherlater,I
haven’t decided.” Glokta put the needle back down on the table, shaking his
headsadly.“Yourteethareafuckingdisgrace.Revolting.Idodeclare,they’re
justaboutfallingoutontheirown.Doyouknow,”hesaid,ashetookthelittle
hammer and chisel from the table, “I do believe you’d be better off without
them.”
Flatheads
Greymorningtime,outinthecold,wetwoods,andtheDogmanwasjustsat
there,thinkingabout how things usedtobebetter.Satthere, minding the spit,
turningitroundeveryonceinawhileandtryingnottogettoonervouswiththe
waiting.TulDuruwasn’thelpinganywiththat.Hewasstridingupanddownthe
grass, round the old stones and back, wearing his great boots out, about as
patient as a wolf on heat. Dogman watched him stomping—clomp, clomp,
clomp. He’d learned a long time ago that great fighters are only good for one
thing. Fighting. At pretty much everything else, and at waiting in particular,
they’refuckinguseless.
“Whydon’tyousityourselfdown,Tul?”mutteredDogman.“There’sstones
aplentyforthepurpose.Warmerherebythefireandall.Restthoseflappingfeet
o’yours,you’regettingmetwitchy.”
“Sitmedown?”rumbledthegiant,comingupandloomingovertheDogman
likeagreatbloodyhouse.“HowcanIsit,oryoueither?”Hefrownedacrossthe
ruinsandintothetreesfromunderhisgreat,heavybrows.“Yousurethisisthe
place?”
“This is the place.” Dogman stared round at the broken stones, hoping like
hellthatitwas.Hecouldn’tdenytherewasnosignof’emyet.“They’llbehere,
don’tyouworry.”Solongastheyain’tallgotthemselveskilled,hethought,but
hehadthesensenottosayit.He’dspentenoughtimemarchingwithTulDuru
Thunderhead to know—you don’t get that man stirred up. Unless you want a
brokenhead,o’course.
“Theybetterbeheresoonisall.”Tul’sbloodygreathandscurledupintofists
fittobreakrockswith.“Igotnotasteforjustsittinghere,arseinthewind!”
“NordoI,neither,”saidtheDogman,showinghispalmsanddoinghisbestto
keepeverythinggentle,“butdon’tyoufretonit,biglad.They’llbealongsoon
enough,justthewayweplanned.Thisistheplace.”Heeyedthehogcrackling
away,drippingsomenicegravyinthefire.Hismouthwaswateringgoodnow,
hisnosewasfullofthesmellofmeat…andsomethingelsebeside.Justawhiff.
Helookedup,sniffing.
“Yousmellsomething?”askedTul,peeringintothewoods.
“Something,maybe.”TheDogmanleaneddownandtookaholdonhisbow.
“Whatisit?Shanka?”
“Not sure, could be.” He sniffed the air again. Smelled like a man, and a
mightysour-smellingoneatthat.
“Icouldhavekilledthefuckingpairo’you!”
Dogmanspanabout,halffallingoverandnearfumblinghisbowwhilehedid
it.BlackDow wasn’tten strides behindhim,downwind, creeping over to the
firewithanastygrin.Grimwasathisshoulder,faceblankasawall,asalways.
“You bastards!” bellowed Tul. “You near made me shit with your sneaking
around!”
“Good,”sneeredDow.“Youcouldlosesomefuckinglard.”
Dogman took a long breath and tossed his bow back down. Some relief to
know they were in the right spot after all, but he could’ve done without the
scare.He’dbeenjumpysincehesawLogengoovertheedgeofthatcliff.Roll
rightonoverandnotathinganyonecoulddoaboutit.Couldhappentoanyone
anytime,death,andthatwasafact.
Grimclamberedoverthebrokenstonesandsathimselfdownononenextto
the Dogman, gave him the barest of nods. “Meat?” barked Dow, shoving past
Tulandfloppingdownbesidethefire,rippingalegoffthecarcassandtearing
intoitwithhisteeth.
And that was it. That was all the greeting, after a month or more apart. “A
man with friends is rich indeed,” muttered the Dogman out the corner of his
mouth.
“Whatsay?”spatDow,coldeyesslidinground,hismouthfullofpig,hisdirty,
stubblychinallshinywithgrease.
Dogman showed his palms again. “Nothing to take offence at.” He’d spent
enough time marching with Black Dow to know—you might as well cut your
ownneckasmakethatevilbastardangry.“Anytroublewhilewewassplitup?”
heasked,lookingtochangethesubject.
Grimnodded.“Some.”
“Fucking Flatheads!” snarled Dow, spraying bits of meat in Dogman’s face.
“They’re bloody everywhere!” He pointed the hog’s leg across the fire like it
was a blade. “I’ve taken enough of this shit! I’m going back south. It’s too
bloody cold by half, and fucking Flatheads everywhere! Bastards! I’m going
south!”
“Youscared?”askedTul.
Dowturnedtolookupathimwithabigyellowgrin,andtheDogmanwinced.
Itwasadamnfoolofaquestion,that.He’dneverbeenscaredinhislife,Black
Dow.Didn’tknowwhatitwastobescared.“FearedofafewShanka?Me?”He
gaveanastylaugh.“Wedonesomeworkonthem,whileyoutwobeensnoring.
Gavesomeof’emwarmbedstosleepin.Toowarmbyhalf.”
“Burned’em,”mutteredGrim.Thatwasafullday’stalkoutofhimalready.
“Burned a whole fucking pile of ’em,” hissed Dow, grinning like he never
heardsuchajokeascorpsesonfire.“Theydon’tscareme,biglad,nomore’n
youdo,butIdon’tplantositherewaitingfor’emneither,justsoThreetreeshas
timeto haul hisflabbyold arse outofbed. I’m goingsouth!”Andhe tore off
anothermouthfulofmeat.
“Who’sgottheflabbyarsenow?”
Dogman cracked a grin as he saw Threetrees striding over towards the fire,
and he started up and grabbed the old boy by the hand. He had Forley the
Weakestwithhimandall,andDogmanclappedthelittlemanonthebackashe
came past. Nearly knocked him over, he was that pleased to see they were all
aliveandmade it through another month. Didn’thurt tohavesomeleadership
round the fire, neither. Everyone looked happy for once, smiling and pressing
handsandalltherest.EveryonebutDow,o’course.Hejustsatthere,staringat
thefire,suckingonhisbone,facesourasoldmilk.
“Rightgoodtoseeyouagain,lads,andallinonepiece.”Threetreesheftedhis
bigroundshieldoffhisshoulderandleantitupagainstabrokenoldbitofwall.
“How’veyoubeen?”
“Fuckingcold,”saidDow,notevenlookingup.“We’regoingsouth.”
Dogman sighed. Back together for ten heartbeats and the bickering was
alreadystarted. It was goingtobea tough crowd now, withoutLogento keep
thingssettled.Atoughcrowd,andapttogetbloody.Threetreeswasn’trushing
intoanything,though.Hetookamomenttothinkonit,likealways.Helovedto
takehismoment,thatone.Thatwaswhatmadehimsodangerous.“Goingsouth,
eh?”saidThreetrees,afterhe’dcheweditoverforaminute.“Andjustwhendid
allthisgetdecided?”
“Nothing’sdecided,”saidtheDogman,showinghispalmsonemoretime.He
reckonedhemightbedoingthatalotfromnowon.
TulDurufrowneddownatDow’sback.“Nothingatall,”herumbled,mightily
annoyedathavinghismindmadeupforhim.
“Nothingisright,”saidThreetrees,slowandsteadyasthegrassgrowing.“I
don’trecallthisbeingnovotingband.”
Dowtooknotimeatalltothinkaboutthat.Henevertooktime,thatone.That
was what made him so dangerous. He leaped up, flinging the bone onto the
ground, squaring up to Threetrees with a fighting look. “I… say… south!” he
snarled,eyesbulginglikebubblesonastew.
Threetreesdidn’tbackdownastep.Thatwouldn’thavebeenhiswayatall.
He took his moment to think on it, course, then he took a step forward of his
own, so his nose and Dow’s were almost touching. “If you wanted a say, you
shouldhavebeatenNinefingers,”hegrowled,“insteadoflosingliketherestof
us.”
BlackDow’sfaceturneddarkastaratthat.Hedidn’tlikebeingremindedof
losing.“TheBloody-Nine’sgonebacktothemud!”hesnarled.“Dogmanseen
it,didn’tyou?”
Dogmanhadtonod.“Aye,”hemuttered.
“Sothat’stheendofthat!There’snoreasonforustobepissingaroundhere,
Northofthemountains,withFlatheadscrawlingupourarses!Isaysouth!”
“Ninefingers may be dead,” said Threetrees in Dow’s face, “but your debt
ain’t.WhyhesawfittospareamanasworthlessasyouI’llneverknow,buthe
namedmeassecond,”andhetappedhisbigchest,“andthatmeansI’mtheone
withthesay!Meandnoother!”
Dogmantookacarefulstepback.Thetwoof’emwereshapingupforblows
alright, and he’d no wish to get a bloody nose in all the confusion. It would
hardlyhavebeenthefirsttime.Forleytookastabatkeepingthepeace.“Come
onboys,”hesaid,allniceandsoft,“there’snoneedforthis.”Hemightnothave
beenmuchatkilling,Forley,buthewasadamngoodboyforstoppingthosethat
werefromkillingeachother.Dogmanwishedhimluckwithit.“Comeon,why
don’tyou—”
“Shutyourfuckinghole,you!”growledDow,onedirtyfingerstabbingsavage
inForley’sface.“What’syourfuckingsayworth,Weakest?”
“Leavehimbe!”rumbledTul,holdinghisgreatfistupunderDow’schin,“or
I’llgiveyousomethingtoshoutabout!”
TheDogmancouldhardlylook.DowandThreetreeswerealwayspickingat
eachother.Theygotfiredupquickanddampeddownquick.TheThunderhead
wasadifferentanimal.Oncethatbigoxgotproperlyriledtherewasnocalming
him.Notwithouttenstrongmenandalotofrope.Dogmantriedtothinkwhat
Logenwouldhavedone.He’dhaveknownhowtostop’emfighting,ifhehadn’t
beendead.
“Shit!”shoutedDogman,jumpingupfromthefireallofasudden.“There’s
fuckingShankacrawling all over us!Andifwe get through with themthere’s
alwaysBethodtothinkon!We’veaworldfullofscorestosettlewithoutmaking
moreourselves!Logen’sgoneandThreetreesissecond,andthat’stheonlysay
I’llhear!”Hedidsomejabbingwithhisownfinger,atnooneinparticular,then
hewaited,hopinglikehellthatithaddonethetrick.
“Aye,”gruntedGrim.
Forleystartednoddinglikeawoodpecker.“Dogman’sright!Weneedtofight
eachotherlikeweneedthecock-rot!Threetreesissecond.He’sthechiefnow.”
Itwasquietforamoment,andDowfixedtheDogmanwiththatcold,empty,
killinglook,likethecatwiththemousebetweenitspaws.Dogmanswallowed.
Alotofmen,mostmeneven,wouldn’thavedaredmeetnolooklikethatfrom
BlackDow.HegotthenamefromhavingtheblackestreputationintheNorth,
withcomingsuddenintheblackofnight,andleavingthevillagesbehindhim
blackfromfire.Thatwastherumour.Thatwasthefact.
IttookallthebonesDogmanhadnottostareathisboots.Hewasjustreadyto
doitwhenDowlookedaway,eyedtheothers,oneatatime.Mostmenwouldn’t
have met that look, but these here weren’t most men. You could never have
hopedtomeetabloodiercrowd,notanywhereunderthesun.Notaoneofthem
backeddown,orevenseemedtoconsiderit.ApartfromForleytheWeakest,of
course,hewasstaringatthegrassbeforehisturnevencame.
OnceDowsawtheywereallagainsthimhecrackedahappysmile,justasif
there never was a problem. “Fair enough,” he said to Threetrees, the anger all
seemingtodrainawayinaninstant.“What’sittobethen,chief?”
Threetreeslookedoveratthewoods.Hesniffedandsuckedathis teeth.He
scratchedathisbeard,takinghismomenttothinkonit.Helookedeachoneof
themover,considering.“Wegosouth,”hesaid.
Hesmelled’embeforehesaw’em,butthatwasalwaysthewaywithhim.He
hada goodnose,did theDogman,that’showhegot thenameafter all.Being
honestthough,anyonecouldhavesmelled’em.Theyfuckingstank.
Thereweretwelvedownintheclearing.Sitting,eating,gruntingtoeachother
intheirnasty,dirtytongue,bigyellowteethstickingouteverywhere,dressedin
lumpsofsmellyfurandreekinghideandoddbitsofrustyarmour.Shanka.
“Fucking Flatheads,” Dogman muttered to himself. He heard a soft hiss
behind,turnedroundtoseeGrimpeeringupfrombehindabush.Heheldouthis
openhandtosaystop,tappedthetopofhisskulltosayFlatheads,helduphis
fist,thentwofingerstosaytwelve,andpointedbackdownthetracktowardsthe
others.Grimnoddedandfadedawayintothewoods.
TheDogmantookonelastlookattheShanka,justtomakesuretheywereall
stillunwary.Theywere,soheslippedbackdownthetreeandoff.
“They’recampedroundtheroad,twelvethatIsaw,maybemore.”
“Theylookingforus?”askedThreetrees.
“Maybe,buttheyain’tlookingtoohard.”
“Couldwegetaroundthem?”askedForley,alwayslookingtomissoutona
fight.
Dowspatontotheground,alwayslookingtogetintoone.“Twelveisnothing!
Wecandothemalright!”
The Dogman looked over at Threetrees, thinking it out, taking his moment.
Twelvewasn’tnothing,andtheyallknewit,butitmightbebettertodealwith
themthanleavethemfreeandeasybehind.
“What’sittobe,chief?”askedTul.
Threetreessethisjaw.“Weapons.”
Afightingman’safoolthatdon’tkeephisweaponscleanandready.Dogman
had been over his no more’n an hour before. Still, you won’t be killed for
checking’em,whileyoumightbefornotdoingit.
There was the hissing of steel on leather, the clicking of wood and the
clanking of metal. Dogman watched Grim twang at his bowstring, check over
thefeathersonhisshafts.HewatchedTulDururunhisthumbdowntheedgeof
hisbigheavy sword,almostas tallasForleywas,cluckinglikeachickenata
spot of rust. He watched Black Dow rubbing a rag on the head of his axe,
lookingatthebladewitheyessoftasalover’s.HewatchedThreetreestuggingat
thebucklesonhisshieldstraps,swishinghisbladethroughtheair,brightmetal
glinting.
TheDogmangaveasigh,pulledthestrapsonhisguardtighterroundhisleft
wrist,checkedthewoodofhisbowforcracks.Hemadesureallhiskniveswere
wheretheyshouldbe.Youcanneverhavetoomanyknives,Logenhadtoldhim
once, and he’d taken it right to heart. He watched Forley checking his short-
swordwithclumsyhands,hismouthchewingaway,eyesallwetwithfear.That
gothisownnervesjumping,andheglancedroundattheothers.Dirty,scarred,
frowns’ and lotsof beard.Therewas nofear there,nofear atall,but thatwas
nothingtobeshamedat.Differentmenhavedifferentways,Logenhadtoldhim
once,andyouhavetohavefeartohavecourage.He’dtakenthatrighttoheartas
well.
HewalkedovertoForleyandgavehimaclapontheshoulder.“Youhaveto
havefeartohavecourage,”hesaid.
“Thatso?”
“Sotheysay,andit’sagoodthingtoo.”TheDogmanleanedclosesonoone
elsecouldhear.“CauseI’maboutreadytoshit.”Hereckonedthat’swhatLogen
wouldhavedone,andnowthatLogenhadgonebacktothemuditfelltohim.
Forleygavehalfasmile,butitslumpedprettyfast,andhelookedmorescared
thenever.There’sonlysomuchyoucando.
“Right,boys,”saidThreetrees,oncethegearwasallcheckedandstowedinits
properplaces,“here’s howwe’ll getit done.Grim, Dogman,opposite sidesof
theircamp,outinthetrees.Waitforthesignal,thenshootanyFlatheadwitha
bow.Failingthat,whatever’sclosest.”
“Rightyouare,chief,”saidtheDogman.Grimgaveanod.
“Tul,youandme’lltakethefront,butwaitforthesignal,eh?”
“Aye,”rumbledthegiant.
“Dow,youandForleyattheback.Youcomeonwhenyouseeusgo.Butthis
timeyouwaitforustogo!”hissedThreetrees,stabbingwithhisthickfinger.
“Course,chief.”Dowshruggedhisshoulders,justasthoughhealwaysdidas
hewastold.
“Rightthen,thereitis,”saidThreetrees,“anyonestillconfused?Anyempty
headsroundthefire?”TheDogmanmumbledandshookhishead.Theyalldid.
“Fairenough.Justonemorething.”Theoldboyleanedforward,lookingateach
ofthemonebyone.“Wait…for…the…fucking…signal!”
Itwasn’t’tiltheDogmanwashidbehindabushwithhisbowinhishandand
ashaftatthereadythatherealised.He’dnoideawhatthesignalwas.Helooked
downattheShanka,stillsatthereallunwary,gruntingandshoutingandbanging
about.Bythedeadheneededtopiss.Alwaysneededtopissbeforeafight.Had
anyonesaidthesignal?Hecouldn’tremember.
“Shit,”hewhispered,andjustthenDowcamehurtlingoutfromthetrees,axe
inonehand,swordintheother.
“FuckingFlatheads!”hescreamed,givingthenearestafearsomebigblowin
the head and splattering blood across the clearing. In so far as you could tell
what a Shanka was thinking, these ones looked greatly surprised. Dogman
reckonedthatwouldhavetodoforasignal.
HeletloosehisshaftatthenearestFlathead,justreachingforabigcluband
watched it catch it through the armpit with a satisfying thunk. “Hah!” he
shouted. He saw Dow spit another through the back with his sword, but there
wasabigShankanowwithaspearreadytothrow.Anarrowcameloopingout
ofthetreesandstuckitthroughtheneck,anditletgoasquealandsprawledout
backwards.ThatGrimwasadamngoodshot.
NowThreetreescameroaringfromthescrubontheothersideoftheclearing,
catchingthemoffguard.HebargedoneFlatheadinthebackwithhisshieldand
it sprawled face-first into the fire, he hacked at another with his sword. The
DogmanletgoashaftanditstuckaShankainitsgut.Itdroppeddownonits
kneesandamomentlaterTultookitsheadoffwithagreatswingofhissword.
The fight was joined and moving quick—chop, grunt, scrape, rattle. There
was blood flying and weapons swinging and bodies dropping too fast for the
Dogman to try an arrow at. The three of them had the last few hemmed in,
squawkingandgibbering.TulDuruwasswinginghisbigswordaround,keeping
thematbay.Threetreesdartedinandchoppedthelegsoutfromunderone,and
Dowcutanotherdownasitlookedround.
Thelastonesquawkedandmadearunforthetrees.Dogmanshotatit,buthe
washurryingandhemissed.ThearrowalmosthitDowintheleg,butluckilyhe
didn’tnotice. Ithadalmost gotawayinto thebushes,then itsquealed and fell
back,thrashing.Forleyhadstabbedit,hidinginthescrub.“Igotone!”heyelled.
It was quiet for a moment, while the Dogman scrambled down toward the
clearingandtheyalllookedroundtoseeiftherewasanythinglefttofight,then
BlackDowgaveagreatbellow,shakinghisbloodyweaponsoverhishead.“We
fuckingkilled’em!”
“Younearlykilledusall,youdamnfool!”shoutedThreetrees.
“Eh?”
“Whataboutthefuckingsignal?”
“IthoughtIheardyoushout!”
“Inever!”
“Did you not?” asked Dow, looking greatly puzzled. “What was the signal
anyhow?”
Threetreesgaveasighandputhisheadinhishands.
Forleywasstillstaringdown at his sword. “I got one!” he said again. Now
thatthefightwasover,theDogmanwasaboutreadytoburst,soheturnedround
andpissedagainstatree.
“Wekilled’em!”shoutedTul,clappinghimontheback.
“Watch out!” yelled Dogman as piss went all down his leg. They all had a
laughathimoverthat.EvenGrimhadhimselfalittlechuckle.
TulshookThreetreesbytheshoulder.“Wekilled’em,chief!”
“We killed these, aye,” he said, looking sour, “but there’ll be plenty more.
Thousandsof’em.Theywon’tbehappystayinguphereneither,upherebeyond
the mountains. Sooner or later they’ll be going south. Maybe in the summer,
whenthepassesclear,maybelater.Butit’snotlongoff.”
The Dogman glanced at the others, all shifty and worried after that little
speech.Theglowofvictoryhadn’tlastedtoolong.Itneverdid.Helookedround
atthedeadFlatheadsontheground,brokenandbloody,sprawledandcrumpled.
Itseemedahollowlittlevictorythey’dhadnow.“Shouldn’twetryandtell’em,
Threetrees?”heasked.“Shouldn’twetryandwarnsomeone?”
“Aye.”Threetreesgaveasadlittlesmile.“Butwho?”
TheCourseofTrueLove
JezaltrudgedmiserablyacrossthegreyAgriontwithhisfencingsteelsinhis
hand:yawning,stumbling,grumbling,stillhorriblysorefromhisendlessrunthe
day before. He hardly saw anyone as he dragged himself to his daily bullying
fromLordMarshalVaruz.Apartfromtheoddprematuretweetingofsomebird
inamongstthegablesandthetiredscrapingofhisownreluctantboots,allwas
quiet.Noonewasupatthistime.Nooneshouldbeupatthistime.Himleastof
all.
Hehauledhisachinglegsthroughthearchwayandupthetunnel.Thesunwas
barely above the horizon and the courtyard beyond was full of deep shadows.
SquintingintothedarknesshecouldseeVaruzsatatthetable,waitingforhim.
Damnit.Hehadhopedtobeearlyforonce.Didtheoldbastardsleepatall?
“LordMarshal!”shoutedJezal,breakingintoahalf-heartedjog.
“No.Nottoday.”A shiver crept up Jezal’s neck. It was not the voice of his
fencingmaster,buttherewassomethingunpleasantlyfamiliaraboutit.“Marshal
Varuzisbusywithmoreimportantmattersthismorning.”InquisitorGloktawas
sittingintheshadowsbythetableandsmilingupwithhisrevoltinggap-toothed
grin.Jezal’sskinprickledwithdisgust.Itwashardlywhatoneneededfirstthing
inthemorning.
He slowed to a reluctant walk and stopped next to the table. “You will
doubtless be pleased to learn that there will be no running, or swimming, or
beam,orheavybartoday,”saidthecripple.“Youwon’tevenbeneedingthose.”
HewavedhiscaneatJezal’sfencingsteels.“Wewilljustbehavingalittlechat.
Thatisall.”
TheideaoffivepunishinghourswithVaruzseemedsuddenlyveryappealing,
but Jezal was not about to show his discomfort. He tossed his steels onto the
table with a loud rattle and sat down carelessly in the other chair, Glokta
regardinghimfromtheshadowsallthewhile.Jezalhaditinmindtostarehim
into some kind of submission, but it proved a vain attempt. After a couple of
secondslookingatthatwastedface,thatemptygrin,thosefever-brightsunken
eyes,hebegantofindthetabletopmostinteresting.
“Sotellme,Captain,whydidyoutakeupfencing?”
Agamethen.Aprivatehandofcardswithonlytwoplayers.Andeverything
thatwassaidwouldgetbacktoVaruz,thatwassure.Jezalwouldhavetoplay
his hand carefully, keep his cards close and his wits about him. “For my own
honour,forthatofmyfamily,forthatofmyKing,”hesaidcoldly.Thecripple
couldtryandfindfaultwiththatanswer.
“Ah,soit’sforthebenefitofyournationthatyouputyourselfthroughthis.
Whatafinecitizenyoumustbe.Whatselflessness.Whatanexampletousall.”
Gloktasnorted.“Please!Ifyoumustlie,atleastpickaliethatyouyourselffind
convincing.Thatanswerisaninsulttousboth.”
Howdarethistoothlesshas-beentakethattonewithhim?Jezal’slegsgavea
twitch:hewasrightonthepointofgettingupandwalkingaway,Varuzandhis
hideousstoogebedamned.Buthecaughtthecripple’seyeasheputhishandson
thearmsofthechairtopushhimselfup.Gloktawassmilingathim,amocking
sortofsmile.Toleavewouldbetoadmitdefeatsomehow.Whydidhetakeup
fencinganyway?“Myfatherwantedmetodoit.”
“So,so.My heart brims with sympathy.Theloyalson, bound by his strong
sense of duty, is forced to fulfil his father’s ambitions. A familiar tale, like a
comfortableoldchairwealllovetositin.Tell’emwhattheywanttohear,eh?A
betteranswer,butjustasfarfromthetruth.”
“Why don’t you tell me then?” snapped Jezal sulkily, “since you seem to
knowsomuchaboutit!”
“Alright,Iwill.Mendon’tfencefortheirKing,orfortheirfamilies,orforthe
exerciseeither,beforeyoutrythatoneonme.Theyfencefortherecognition,for
theglory.Theyfencefortheirownadvancement.Theyfenceforthemselves.I
shouldknow.”
“Youshouldknow?”Jezalsnorted.“Ithardlyseemstohaveworkedinyour
case.”Heregretted it immediately.Damnhis mouth, it gothimin all kinds of
trouble.
But Glokta only flashed his disgusting smile again. “It was working well
enough,untilIfoundmywayintotheEmperor’sprisons.What’syourexcuse,
liar?”
Jezaldidn’tlikethewaythisconversationwasgoing.Hewastoousedtoeasy
victoriesatthecardtable,andpoorplayers.Hisskillshaddulled.Bettertosit
thisoneoutuntilhegotthemeasureofhisnewopponent.Heclampedhisjaw
shutandsaidnothing.
“Ittakeshardwork,ofcourse,winningaContest.Youshouldhaveseenour
mutual friend Collem West working. He sweated at it for months, running
around while the rest of us laughed at him. A jumped-up, idiot commoner
competing with his betters, that’s what we all thought. Blundering through his
forms,stumblingaboutonthebeam,beingmadeafoolof,againandagain,day
afterday.Butlookathimnow.”Gloktatappedhiscanewithafinger.“Andlook
at me. Seems he had the last laugh, eh, Captain? Just shows what you can
achieve with a little hard work. You’ve twice the talent he had, and the right
blood.Youdon’thavetoworkonetenthsohard,butyourefusetoworkatall.”
Jezalwasn’tabouttoletthatonepast.“Notworkatall?Don’tIputmyself
throughthistortureeveryday—”
“Torture?”askedGloktasharply.
Jezalrealisedtoolatehisunfortunatechoiceofwords.“Well,”hemumbled,“I
meant.”
“Iknowmorethanalittleaboutbothfencingandtorture.BelievemewhenI
say,”andtheInquisitor’sgrotesquegringrewwiderstill,“thatthey’retwoquite
differentthings.”
“Er…”saidJezal,stilloffbalance.
“Youhavetheambitions,andthemeanstorealisethem.Alittleeffortwould
doit.Afewmonths’hardwork,thenyou wouldprobablynever needtotryat
anything again in your life, if that’s what you want. A few short months, and
you’reset.”Gloktalickedathisemptygums.“Barringaccidentsofcourse.It’sa
great chance you’ve been offered. I’d take it; if I was you, but I don’t know.
Maybeyou’reafoolaswellasaliar.”
“I’mnofool,”saidJezalcoldly.Itwasthebesthecoulddo.
Glokta raised an eyebrow, then winced, leaning heavily on his cane as he
slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Give it up if you like, by all means. Sit
aroundfortherestofyourdaysanddrinkandtalkshitwiththerestofthejunior
officers.Therearealotofpeoplewho’dbemorethanhappytolivethatlife.A
lotofpeoplewhohaven’thadthechancesyou’vehad.Giveitup.LordMarshal
Varuz will be disappointed, and Major West, and your father, and so on, but
please believe me when I say,” and he leaned down, still smiling his horrible
smile,“thatIcouldn’tcareless.Goodday,CaptainLuthar.”AndGloktalimped
offtowardthearchway.
Afterthatlessthandelightfulinterview,Jezalfoundhimselfwithafewhours
ofunexpectedfreetimeonhishands—buthewasscarcelyintheframeofmind
toenjoyit.Hewanderedtheemptystreets,squaresandgardensoftheAgriont,
thinkinggrimlyonwhatthecripplehadsaidtohim,cursingthenameofGlokta,
butunabletoquitepushtheconversationfromhismind.Heturneditoverand
over, every phrase, constantly coming up with new things that he should have
said.Ifonlyhehadthoughtofthematthetime.
“Ah, Captain Luthar!” Jezal started and looked up. A man he did not
recognisewassittingonthedewygrassbeneathatree,smilingupathim,ahalf-
eatenappleinhishand.“Theearlymorningistheperfecttimeforastroll,Ifind.
Calm and grey and clean and empty. It’s nothing like the gaudy pinkness of
eveningtime.Allthatclutter,allthosepeoplecomingandgoing.Howcanone
thinkinamongstall that nonsense? And now I see you are of thesamemind.
Howdelightful.”Hetookabig,crunchingbiteoutoftheapple.
“DoIknowyou?”
“Ohno,no,”saidthestranger,gettingtohisfeetandbrushingsomedirtfrom
theseatofhistrousers,“notyet.MynameisSulfur,YoruSulfur.”
“Really?AndwhatbringsyoutotheAgriont?”
“YoumightsayIhavecomeonadiplomaticmission.”
Jezallookedhimover,tryingtoplacehisorigin.“Amissionfrom?”
“Frommymaster,ofcourse,”saidSulfurunhelpfully.Hiseyesweredifferent
colours,Jezalnoticed.Anuglyandoff-puttingcharacteristic,heratherthought.
“Andyourmasteris?”
“A very wise and powerful man.” He stripped the core with his teeth and
tosseditawayintothebushes,wipinghishandsonthefrontofhisshirt.“Isee
you’vebeenfencing.”
Jezalglanceddownathissteels.“Yes,”hesaid,realisingthathehadfinally
cometoadecision,“butforthelasttime.I’mgivingitup.”
“Oh dear me, no!” The strange man seized Jezal by the shoulder. “Oh dear
me,noyoumustn’t!”
“What?”
“No,no!Mymasterwouldbehorrifiedifheknew.Horrified!Giveupfencing
and you give up more than that! This is how one comes to the notice of the
public, you see? They decide, in the end. There’s no nobility without the
commoners,nonobilityatall!Theydecide!”
“What?”Jezalglancedaroundthepark,hopingtocatchsightofaguardsohe
couldnotifyhimthatadangerousmadmanwaslooseintheAgriont.
“No,youmustn’tgiveitup!Iwon’thearofit!Noindeed!I’msurethatyou’ll
stickwithitafterall!Youmust!”
JezalshookSulfur’shandoffhisshoulder.“Whoareyou?”
“Sulfur,YoruSulfur,atyourservice.Seeyouagain,Captain,attheContest,if
notbefore!”Andhewavedoverhisshoulderashestrolledoff.
Jezalstaredafterhim,mouthslightlyopen.“Damnit!”heshouted,throwing
his steels down on the grass. Everyone seemed to want to take a hand in his
businesstoday,evencrazystrangersinthepark.
Assoonashethoughtitwaslateenough,JezalwenttocallonMajorWest.
Youcouldalwaysbesureofasympatheticearwithhim,andJezalwashoping
thathemightbeabletomanipulatehisfriendintobreakingthebadnewstoLord
MarshalVaruz.Thatwasascenethathewantednopartof,ifhecouldpossibly
avoid it. He knocked on the door and waited, he knocked again. The door
opened.
“CaptainLuthar!Whatanalmostunbearablehonour!”
“Ardee,”mutteredJezal,somewhatsurprisedtofindherhere,“it’sgoodtosee
youagain.”Foronceheactuallymeantit.Shewasinteresting,iswhatshewas.
It was a new and refreshing thing for him to actually be interested in what a
womanhadtosay.Andshewasdamngood-lookingtoo,therewasnodenying
it, and seemed prettier every time he saw her. Nothing could ever happen
betweenthem,ofcourse,whatwithWestbeinghisfriendandall,buttherewas
noharminlooking,wasthere?“Er…isyourbrotheraround?”
She threw herself carelessly down onto the settle against the wall, one leg
stretchedout,looking very sour.“He’sout.Gone out. Always busy. Much too
busyforme.”Therewasadefiniteflushtohercheek.Jezal’seyelightedonthe
decanter.Thestopperwasoutandthewinewashalfwaydown.
“Areyoudrunk?”
“Somewhat,”shesquintedatahalf-fullwineglassatherelbow,“butmostly
I’mjustbored.”
“It’snoteventen.”
“Can’tIbeboredbeforeten?”
“YouknowwhatImean.”
“Leavethe moralisingtomy brother. It suitshim better.Andhavea drink.”
Shewavedherhandatthebottle.“Youlooklikeyouneedone.”
Well,thatwastrueenough.Hepouredhimselfaglassandsatdowninachair
facingArdee,whilesheregardedhimwithheavy-liddedeyes.Shetookherown
glassfromthetable.Therewasathickbooklyingnexttoit,facedown.
“How’sthebook?”askedJezal.
“The Fall of the Master Maker, in three volumes. They say it’s one of the
greatclassicsofhistory.Lotofboringrubbish,”shesnortedderisively.“Fullof
wiseMagi,sternknightswithmightyswordsandladieswithmightierbosoms.
Magic, violence and romance, in equal measure. Utter shit.” She slapped the
bookoffthetableandittumbledontothecarpet,pagesflapping.
“Theremustbesomethingyoucanfindtokeepbusy?”
“Really?Whatwouldyousuggest?”
“Mycousinsdoalotofembroidery.”
“Fuckyourself.”
“Hmm,”saidJezal,smiling.Theswearingnolongerseemedhalfsooffensive
asithaddonewhentheyfirstmet.“Whatdidyoudoathome,inAngland?”
“Oh,home,”herheaddroppedagainstthebackofthesettle.“IthoughtIwas
boredthere.Icouldhardlywaittocomeheretothebrightcentreofthings.Now
Icanhardlywaittogoback.Marrysomefarmer.Haveadozenbrats.Atleast
I’d get some conversation that way.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “But
Collem won’t let me. He feels responsible, now that our father’s dead. Thinks
it’s too dangerous. He’d rather I didn’t get slaughtered by the Northmen, but
that’saboutwherehissenseofresponsibilityends.Itcertainlydoesn’textendto
spendingtenminutestogetherwithme.SoitlookslikeI’mstuckhere,withall
youarrogantsnobs.”
Jezalshifteduncomfortablyinhisseat.“Heseemstomanage.”
“Oh yes,” snorted Ardee, “Collem West, he’s a damn fine fellow! Won a
Contest don’t you know? First through the breach at Ulrioch, wasn’t he? No
breeding at all, never be one of us, but a damn fine fellow, for a commoner!
Shameaboutthatupstartsisterofhisthough,toocleverbyhalf.Andtheysay
shedrinks,”shewhispered.“Doesn’tknowherplace.Totaldisgrace.Bestjustto
ignoreher.”Shesighedagain.“Yes,thesoonerIgohome,thehappiereveryone
willbe.”
“Iwon’tbehappier.”Damn,didhesaythatoutloud?
Ardeelaughed,nonetoopleasantly.“Well,it’senormouslynobleofyoutosay
so.Whyaren’tyoufencinganyway?”
“Marshal Varuz was busy today.” He paused for a moment. “In fact, I had
yourfriendSanddanGloktaasfencingmasterthismorning.”
“Really?Whatdidhehavetosayforhimself?”
“Variousthings.Hecalledmeafool.”
“Imaginethat.”
Jezal frowned. “Yes, well. I’m as bored with fencing as you are with that
book. That was what I wanted to talk to your brother about. I’m thinking of
givingitup.”
She burst out laughing. Snorting, gurgling peals of it. Her whole body was
shaking.Winesloshedoutofherglassandsplatteredacrossthefloor.“What’sso
funny?”hedemanded.
“It’sjust,”shewipedatearfromhereye,“IhadabetwithCollem.Hewas
sureyou’dstickatit.AndnowI’mtenmarksricher.”
“I’mnotsurethatIlikebeingthesubjectofyourbet,”saidJezalsharply.
“I’mnotsureIgiveadamn.”
“Thisisserious.”
“Noitisn’t!”shesnapped.“Formybrotheritwasserious,hehadtodoit!No
oneevennoticesyouifyoudon’thavea‘dan’inyourname,andwho’dknow
betterthanme?You’retheonlypersonwho’sgivenmethetimeofdaysinceI
gothere,andthenonlybecauseCollemmadeyou.I’vepreciouslittlemoneyand
nobloodatall,andthatmakesmelessthannothingtothelikesofyou.Themen
ignoremeandthewomencutmedead. I’ve got nothing here, nothing and no
one,andyou think you’ve gotthehard life? Please! Imighttake up fencing,”
shesaidbitterly.“AsktheLordMarshalifhehasspaceforapupil,wouldyou?
AtleastthenI’dhavesomeonetotalkto!”
Jezal blinked. That wasn’t interesting. That was rude. “Hold on, you’ve no
ideawhatit’sliketo—”
“Oh stop whinging! How old are you? Five? Why don’t you go back to
suckingonyourmother’stit,infant?”
Hecouldhardlybelievewhathewashearing.Howdareshe?“Mymother’s
dead,”hesaid.Hah.Thatshouldmakeherfeelguilty,squeezeanapologyoutof
her.Itdidn’t.
“Dead?Luckyher,atleastshedoesn’thavetolistentoyourdamnwhining!
You spoiled little rich boys are all the same. You get everything you could
possibly want, then throw a tantrum because you have to pick it up yourself!
You’repathetic!Youmakemefuckingsick!”
Jezalgoggled.Hisfacewasburning,stinging,asifhe’dbeenslapped.He’d
rather have been slapped. He had never been spoken to like that in his life.
Never! It was worse than Glokta. Much worse, and far more unexpected. He
realisedhismouthwashanginghalfopen.Hesnappeditshut,grindinghisteeth
together, slapped his glass down on the table, and got up to leave. He was
turning to the door when it suddenly opened, leaving him and Major West
staringateachother.
“Jezal,” said West, looking at first simply surprised and then, as he glanced
over at his sister, sprawling on the settle, slightly suspicious. “What are you
doinghere?”
“Er…Icametoseeyouactually.”
“Ohyes?”
“Yes.Butitcanwait.I’vethingstodo.”AndJezalpushedpasthisfriendand
outintothecorridor.
“Whatwasallthatabout?”HeheardWestsayingashestrodeawayfromthe
room.“Areyoudrunk?”
WitheverystepJezal’sfurymounteduntilhewashalfwaytobeingstrangled
byit.Hehadbeenthevictimofanassault!Asavageandundeservedattack!He
stoppedinthecorridor,tremblingwithrage,hisbreathsnortinginhisnoselike
he’druntenmiles,hisfistsclenchedpainfullytight.Andfromawomantoo!A
woman!Anda bloodycommoner!How dareshe?He hadwastedtimeonher,
and laughed at her jokes, and found her attractive! She should have been
honouredtobenoticed!
“Thatfuckingbitch!”hesnarledtohimself.Hehadhalfamindtogobackand
sayittoherface,butitwastoolate.Hestaredaroundforsomethingtohit.How
topayherback?How?Thenitcametohim.
Proveherwrong.
Thatwoulddoit.Proveherwrong,andthatcrippledbastardGloktatoo.He’d
showthemhowhardhecouldwork.He’dshowthemhewasnofool,noliar,no
spoiledchild.Themorehethoughtaboutit,themoreitmadesense.He’dwin
thisdamnContest,iswhathe’ddo!That’dwipethesmilesofftheirfaces!Heset
offbrisklydownthecorridor,withastrangenewfeelingbuildinginhischest.
Asenseofpurpose.Thatwaswhatitwas.Perhapsitwasn’ttoolateforarun.
HowDogsareTrained
Practical Frost stood by the wall, utterly motionless, utterly silent, barely
visibleinthedeepshadows,apartofthebuilding.Thealbinohadn’tmovedan
inchinanhourormore,hadn’tshiftedhisfeet,hadn’tblinked,hadn’tbreathed
thatGloktahadnoticed,hiseyesfixedonthestreetbeforethem.
Glokta himself cursed, shifted uncomfortably, winced, scratched his face,
sucked at his empty gums. What’s keeping them? A few minutes more and I
might fall asleep, drop into that stinking canal and drown. How very apt that
wouldbe. He watched the oily, smelly water below him flap and ripple. Body
found floating by the docks, bloated by seawater and far, far beyond
recognition…
Frost touched his arm in the darkness, pointed down the street with a big
white finger. Three men were moving slowly toward them, walking with the
slightlybow-leggedstanceofmenwhospendalotoftimeaboardship,keeping
theirbalanceonaswayingdeck.Sothat’sonehalfofourlittleparty.Betterlate
thannever.Thethreesailorscamehalfwayacrossthebridgeoverthecanalthen
stopped and waited, no more than twenty strides away. Glokta could hear the
tone of their conversation: brash, confident, common accents. He shuffled
slightlyfurtherintotheshadowsclingingtothebuilding.
Nowfootstepscamefromtheoppositedirection,hurriedfootsteps.Twomore
menappeared,walkingquicklydownthestreet.One,averytall,thinfellowin
anexpensive-lookingfurcoatwasglancingsuspiciouslyaroundhim.Thatmust
beGofredHornlach,seniorMercer.Ourman.Hiscompanionhadaswordathis
hip,andwasstrugglingwithabigwoodentrunkoveroneshoulder.Servant,or
bodyguard,orboth.Heisofnointerest.Gloktafeltthehairsonthebackofhis
neckpricklingastheynearedthebridge.Hornlachexchangedafewquickwords
withoneofthesailors,amanwithabigbrownbeard.
“Ready?”hewhisperedtoFrost.ThePracticalnodded.
“Hold!”shoutedGloktaatthetopofhisvoice,“inthenameofhisMajesty!”
Hornlach’sservantspunround,droppingthetrunkontothebridgewithabang,
handmovingtowardhissword.Therewasasofttwangfromtheshadowsonthe
othersideoftheroad.Theservantlookedsurprised,gaveasnort,thentoppled
ontohisface.PracticalFroststrodeswiftlyoutoftheshadows,feetpaddingon
theroad.
Hornlachstareddown,wide-eyed,atthecorpseofhisbodyguard,thenacross
atthehulkingalbino.Heturnedtothesailors.“Helpme!”hecried.“Stophim!”
Their leader smiled back. “I don’t think so.” His two companions moved
withouthurrytoblock thebridge. TheMercer stumbledaway, tooka faltering
steptowardtheshadowsbythecanalontheotherside.Severardappearedfrom
adoorwaybeforehim,flatbowrestedacrosshisshoulder.Replacethebowwith
abunchofflowersandhe’dlookasifhewasonhiswaytoawedding.You’d
neverthinkthathejustkilledaman.
Surrounded, Hornlach could only look around dumbly, eyes wide with fear
andsurprise,asthetwoPracticalsapproached,Gloktalimpingupbehindthem.
“ButIpaidyou!”Hornlachshouteddesperatelyatthesailors.
“Youpaidmeforaberth,”saidtheirCaptain.“Loyaltyisextra.”
Practical Frost’s big white hand slapped down on the merchant’s shoulder,
forcedhimontohisknees.Severardstrolledovertothebodyguard,wedgedthe
dirtytoeofhisbootunderthebodyandrolleditover.Thecorpsestaredupatthe
nightsky,eyesglassy,thefeathersoftheflatbowboltstickingoutfromhisneck.
Thebloodroundhismouthlookedblackinthemoonlight.
“Dead,”gruntedSeverard,mostunnecessarily.
“A bolt through the neck will do that,” said Glokta. “Clean him up, would
you?”
“Rightyouare.”Severardgrabbedthebodyguard’sfeetandhauledthemover
the parapet of the bridge, then he took him under the armpits and heaved the
bodystraightoverthesidewithagrunt.Sosmooth,soclean,sopractised.You
cantellhe’sdoneitbefore.Therewasasplashasthecorpsehittheslimywater
below.FrosthadHornlach’shandstiedfirmlybehindhimnow,andthebagon.
Theprisonersquawkedthroughthecanvasashewasdraggedtohisfeet.Glokta
himselfshuffledovertothethreesailors,hislegsnumbafterallthattimespent
standingstillinthealley.
“Andhereweare,”hesaid,pullingaheavypursefromhisinsidecoatpocket.
He held it swinging just above the Captain’s waiting palm. “Tell me, what
happenedtonight?”
The old sailor smiled, weathered face crinkling up like boot leather. “My
cargowasspoilingandwehadtobeawayonthefirsttide,Itoldhimthat.We
waited and waited, half the night down by that stinking canal, but would you
believeit?Thebastardnevershowed.”
“Verygood.That’sthestoryI’dtellinWestport,ifanyoneshouldask.”
The Captain looked hurt. “That’s how it happened, Inquisitor. What other
storycouldtherebe?”
Glokta let the purse drop and the money jingled inside. “With the
complimentsofhisMajesty.”
TheCaptainweighedthepurseinhishand.“AlwayspleasedtodohisMajesty
afavour!”Andheandhistwocompanionsturned,allyellowsmiles,andmade
offtowardthequay.
“Rightthen,”saidGlokta,“let’sgetonwithit.”
“Wherearemyclothes?”shoutedHornlach,wrigglinginhischair.
“Idoapologiseforthat.Iknowit’squiteuncomfortable,butclothescanhide
things. Leave a man his clothes and you leave him pride, and dignity, and all
kindsof things it’sbetter nottohave in here.Ineverquestion a prisonerwith
theirclotheson.DoyourememberSalemRews?”
“Who?”
“Salem Rews. One of your people. A Mercer. We caught him dodging the
King’s taxes. He made a confession, named a few people. I wanted to talk to
them,buttheyalldied.”
Themerchantseyesflickeredleftandright.Thinkingabouthisoptions,trying
toguesswhatwemightknow.“Peopledieallthetime.”
Glokta stared at the painted corpse of Juvens behind his prisoner, bleeding
bright red paint all over the wall. People die all the time. “Of course, but not
quitesoviolently.Ihaveanotionthatsomeonewantedthemdead,thatsomeone
orderedthemdead.Ihaveanotionitwasyou.”
“You’vegotnoproof!Noproof!Youwon’tgetawaywiththis!”
“Proof means nothing, Hornlach, but I’ll indulge you. Rews survived. He’s
just down the hall, as it goes, no friends left, blubbering away, naming every
Mercerhecanthinkof,orthatwecanthinkof,forthatmatter.”Narrowedeyes,
butnoreply.“WeusedhimtocatchCarpi.”
“Carpi?”askedthemerchant,tryingtolooknonchalant.
“Surely you remember your assassin? Slightly flabby Styrian? Acne scars?
Swearsalot?Wehavehimtoo.Hetoldusthewholestory.Howyouhiredhim,
howmuchyoupaidhim,whatyouaskedhimtodo.Thewholestory.”Glokta
smiled.“Hehasanexcellentmemory,forakiller,verydetailed.”
Thefearwasshowingnow,justatraceofit,butHornlachralliedwell.“This
is an affront to my Guild!” he shouted, with as much authority as he could
muster,nakedandtiedtoachair.“Mymaster,CosterdanKault,willneverallow
this,andhe’saclosefriendofSuperiorKalyne!”
“Shit on Kalyne, he’s finished. Besides, Kault thinks you’re tucked up safe
aboard that ship, bound for Westport and far beyond our reach. I don’t think
you’ll be missed for several weeks.” The merchant’s face had gone slack. “A
greatdealcouldhappeninthattime…averygreatdeal.”
Hornlach’s tonguedartedover hislips.He glanced furtivelyup at Frostand
Severard,leanedslightlyforward.So. Nowcomesthebargaining.“Inquisitor,”
hesaidinawheedlingtone,“ifI’velearnedonethingfromlife,it’sthatevery
manwantssomething.Everymanhashisprice,yes?Andwehavedeeppockets.
Youhaveonlytonameit.Onlynameit!Whatdoyouwant?”
“WhatdoIwant?”askedGlokta,leaningintoamoreconspiratorialdistance.
“Yes.What’sthisallabout?Whatdoyouwant?”Hornlachwassmilingnow,a
coy,cleverlittlesmile.Howquaint,butyouwon’tbuyyourwayoutofthis.
“Iwantmyteethback.”
Themerchant’ssmilebegantofade.
“Iwantmylegback.”
Hornlachswallowed.
“Iwantmylifeback.”
Theprisonerhadturnedverypale.
“No?ThenperhapsI’llsettleforyourheadonastick.You’venothingelseI
want, no matter how deep your pockets are.” Hornlach was trembling slightly
now.Nomorebluster?Nomoredeals?Thenwecanbegin.Gloktapickedupthe
paperinfrontofhim,andreadthefirstquestion.“Whatisyourname?”
“Look, Inquisitor, I…” Frost smashed the table with his fist and Hornlach
coweredinhischair.
“Answerhisfuckingquestion!”screamedSeverardinhisface.
“GofredHornlach,”squealedthemerchant.
Gloktanodded.“Good.YouareaseniormemberoftheGuildofMercers?”
“Yes,yes!”
“OneofMagisterKault’sdeputies,infact?”
“YouknowIam!”
“HaveyouconspiredwithotherMercerstodefraudhisMajestytheKing?Did
youhireanassassintowilfullymurdertenofhisMajesty’ssubjects?Wereyou
ordered so to do by Magister Coster dan Kault, the head of the Guild of
Mercers?”
“No!”shoutedHornlach,voicesqueakywithpanic.Thatisnottheanswerwe
need. Glokta glanced up at Practical Frost. The big white fist sank into the
merchantsgut,andhegaveagentlesighandslidsideways.
“Mymotherkeepsdogs,youknow,”saidGlokta.
“Dogs,”hissedSeverardinthegaspingmerchant’sear,asheshovedhimback
intothechair.
“Shelovesthem.Trains themto doall mannerof tricks.”Gloktapursedhis
lips.“Doyouknowhowdogsaretrained?”
Hornlachwasstillwinded,lollinginhischairwithwateringeyes,someway
frombeing able to speak.Still at that stage of a fish pulled suddenly from the
water.Mouthopeningandclosing,butnosound.
“Repetition,” said Glokta. “Repeat, repeat, repeat. You must have that dog
performhistricksonehundredtimesthesame,andthenyoumustdoitallagain.
It’sallaboutrepetition.Andifyouwantthatdogtobarkoncue,youmustn’tbe
shywiththewhip.You’regoingtobarkforme,Hornlach,infrontoftheOpen
Council.”
“You’remad,”criedtheMercer,staringaroundatthem,“you’reallmad!”
Gloktaflashedhisemptysmile.“Ifyoulike.Ifithelps.”Heglancedbackat
thepaperinhishand.“Whatisyourname?”
Theprisonerswallowed.“GofredHornlach.”
“YouareaseniormemberoftheGuildofMercers?”
“Yes.”
“OneofMagisterKault’sdeputies,infact?”
“Yes!”
“HaveyouconspiredwithotherMercerstodefraudhisMajestytheKing?Did
youhireanassassintowilfullymurdertenofhisMajesty’ssubjects?Wereyou
ordered so to do by Magister Coster dan Kault, the head of the Guild of
Mercers?”
Hornlach cast desperately around him. Frost stared back, Severard stared
back.
“Well?”demandedGlokta.
Themerchantclosedhiseyes.“Yes,”hewhimpered.
“What’sthat?”
“Yes!”
Gloktasmiled.“Excellent.Nowtellme.Whatisyourname?”
TeaandVengeance
“It’sabeautifulcountry,isn’tit?”askedBayaz,staringupattheruggedfells
oneithersideoftheroad.
Theirhorses’hoovesthumpedslowlyalongthetrack,thesteadysoundatodds
withLogen’sunease.“Isit?”
“Well, it’s a hard country, of course, to those who don’t know its ways. A
tough country, and unforgiving. But there’s something noble there too.” The
First of the Magi swept his arm across the view, breathed in the cold air with
relish. “It has honesty, integrity. The best steel doesn’t always shine the
brightest.” He glanced over, swaying gently in his saddle. “You should know
that.”
“Ican’tsayIseethebeautyofit.”
“No?Whatdoyousee?”
Logenlethiseyeswanderoverthesteep,grassyslopes,spottedwithpatches
of sedge and brown gorse, studded with outcrops of grey rock and stands of
trees.“Iseegoodgroundforabattle.Providedyougotherefirst.”
“Really?Howso?”
Logen pointed at a knobbly hilltop. “Archers on the bluff there couldn’t be
seenfromtheroad,andyoucouldhidemostofyourfootintheserocks.Afew
of the lightest armoured left on the slopes, just to draw the enemy on up the
steepestgroundthere.”
He pointed to the thorny bushes that covered the lower slopes. “You’d let
themcomeonaway,thenwhentheywerestrugglingthroughthatgorse,you’d
givethemthearrows.Shaftsfallingonyoufromabovelikethat,that’snofunat
all.Theycomequickerandfurther,andtheybitedeeper.That’dbreakthemup.
By the time they got to the rocks they’d be dog-tired and running short on
discipline.That would be thetimeto charge.Abunch of Carls,leapingoutof
those stones, charging down from above, fresh and keen and screaming like
devils,thatcouldbreak’emrightthere.”
Logennarrowedhiseyesatthehillside.He’dbeenonbothsidesofasurprise
likethat,andinneithercasewasthememoryapleasantone.“Butiftheyhada
mind to hold, a few horsemen in those trees could finish it up. A few Named
Men,afewhardfighters,bearingdownonyoufromaplaceyouneverexpected
them,that’saterrifyingthing.That’dmakethemrun.Buttiredasthey’dbe,they
wouldn’truntoofast.Thatmeansprisoners,andprisonersmightmeanransoms,
or at least enemies cheaply killed. I see a slaughter, or a victory worth the
singing,dependingwhichsideyou’reon.That’swhatIsee.”
Bayaz smiled, head nodding with the slow movement of his horse. “Was it
Stolicuswhosaidthegroundmustbeageneral’sbestfriend,oritbecomeshis
worstenemy?”
“Ineverheard of him,buthe was right enough.Thisis good groundforan
army,providingyougotherefirst.Gettingtherefirstisthetrick.”
“Indeed.Wedon’thaveanarmy,however.”
“Thesetreescouldhideafewhorsemenevenbetterthanalot.”Logenglanced
sidelong at the wizard. He was slouched happily in the saddle, enjoying a
pleasant ride in the country. “I don’t think Bethod will have appreciated your
advice, and I had scores enough with him already. He got wounded where he
feelsitmost,inhispride.He’llwantvengeance.Wantitbadly.”
“Ah yes, vengeance, that most widespread of Northern pastimes. Its
popularityneverseemstowane.”
Logen stared grimly around at the trees, the rocks, the folds in the valley’s
sides,themanyhidingplaces.“There’llbemenoutinthesehills,lookingforus.
Smallbandsofskilledandbattle-hardenedmen,wellmountedandwellarmed,
familiarwiththeland.NowBethodhasfinishedallhisenemiesthere’snowhere
in the North out of his reach. They might be waiting there,” he pointed off
towards some rocks by the road, “or in those trees, or those.” Malacus Quai,
ridingupaheadwiththepackhorse,glancednervouslyaround.“Theycouldbe
anywhere.”
“Doesthatfrightenyou?”askedBayaz.
“Everythingfrightensme,andit’swellthatitdoes.Fearisagoodfriendtothe
hunted,it’skeptmealivethislong.Thedeadarefearless,andIdon’tcaretojoin
them.He’llsendmentothelibrarytoo.”
“Ohyes,toburnmybooksandsoon.”
“Doesthatfrightenyou?”
“Notmuch.ThestonesbythegatehavethewordofJuvensonthem,andthat
isnottobedenied,evennow.No onewithviolenceinmindcancomenear.I
imagineBethod’smenwillwanderaroundthelakeintherainuntiltheyrunout
of food, all the while thinking how very strange it is that they cannot find so
largeathingasalibrary.No,”saidthewizardhappily,scratchingathisbeard.“I
would concentrate on our own predicament. What happens, do you think, if
we’recaught?”
“Bethod will kill us, and in the most unpleasant manner he can think of.
Unlesshehasitinmindtobemerciful,andletusoffwithawarning.”
“Thatdoesn’tseemlikely.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Our best chance is to make for the
Whiteflow,trytogetacrosstheriverintoAngland,andtrusttoluckwearen’t
seen.” Logen didn’t like trusting to luck, the very word left a sour taste. He
peered up at the cloudy sky. “We could do with some bad weather. A healthy
downpourcouldhideusnicely.”Theskieshadbeenpissingonhimforweeks,
butnowthatheneededraintheyrefusedtoproduceadrop.
MalacusQuaiwaslookingoverhisshoulderatthem,hiseyesbigandround
withworry.“Shouldn’twetrytomovefaster?”
“Perhaps,”saidLogen,pattingtheneckofhishorse,“butthatwouldtirethe
horses,andwemayneedallthespeedwecangetlater.Wecouldhideintheday
andtravelbynight,butthenweriskgettinglost.We’rebetterasweare.Move
slowlyandhopewearen’tseen.”Hefrownedatthehilltop.“Hopewehaven’t
beenseenalready.”
“Hmm,”saidBayaz,“thenthismightbethebesttimetotellyou.Thatwitch
Cauribisn’thalfthefoolIpretendedshewas.”
Logenfeltasinkingsensation.“No?”
“No, for all her paint and gold and chat about the utmost north, she knows
whatsheisabout.Thelongeye,theycallit.Anoldtrick,buteffective.Shehas
beenwatchingus.”
“Sheknowswhereweare?”
“She knows when we left, more than likely, and in what direction we were
heading.”
“Thatdoesnothingforourchances.”
“Ishouldsaynot.”
“Shit.” Logen caught some movement in the trees to their left, and he
snatchedhold of thehiltof his sword.A couple ofbirdstook to theskies.He
waited,heartinhismouth.Nothing.Helethishanddropback.“Weshouldhave
killedthemwhilewehadthechance.Allthreeofthem.”
“Butwedidn’t,andthereitis.”BayazlookedoveratLogen.“Iftheydocatch
us,what’syourplan?”
“Run.Andhopeourhorsesarethefaster.”
“Andthisone?”askedBayaz.
The wind blew keenly through the hollow in spite of the trees, making the
flamesofthecampfireflickeranddance.MalacusQuaihunchedhisshoulders
anddrewhisblankettightaroundthem.HepeeredattheshortstemthatBayaz
washoldinguptohim,foreheadcrinkledwithconcentration.
“Erm…”Thiswasthefifthplant,andthemiserableapprenticehadyettoget
oneofthemright.“Isthat…er…Ilyith?”
“Ilyith?”echoedthewizard,hisfacegivingnoclueastowhetheritwasthe
rightanswer.HewasmercilessasBethodwherehisapprenticewasconcerned.
“Perhaps?”
“Hardly.” The apprentice closed his eyes and sighed for the fifth time that
evening. Logen felt for him, he really did, but there was nothing to be done.
“Ursilum,intheoldtongue,theround-leafedkind.”
“Yes,yes,ofcourse,Ursilum,itwasattheendofmytonguethewholetime.”
“Ifthenamewasattheendofyourtongue,thentheusesoftheplantcannot
befarbehind,eh?”
Theapprenticenarrowedhiseyesandlookedhopefullyuptowardsthenight
sky,asthoughtheanswermightbewritteninthestars.“Isit…forachesinthe
joints?”
“No,itisdecidedlynot.Iamafraidyourachingjointswillstillbetroubling
you.”Bayazturnedthestemslowlyroundinhisfingers.“Ursilumhasnouses,
notthatIknowof.It’sjustaplant.”Andhetosseditawayintothebushes.
“Justaplant,”echoed Quai, shaking his head. Logensighedandrubbedhis
tiredeyes.
“I’msorry,MasterNinefingers,areweboringyou?”
“Whatdoesitmatter?”askedLogen,throwinghishandsupintheair.“Who
caresaboutthenameofaplantwithnouse?”
Bayazsmiled.“Afairpoint.Tellus,Malacus,whatdoesitmatter?”
“If a man seeks to change the world, he should first understand it.” The
apprentice trotted the words out as if by rote, evidently relieved to be asked a
questionheknewtheanswerto.“Thesmithmustlearnthewaysofmetals,the
carpenterthewaysofwood,ortheirworkwillbeofbutlittleworth.Basemagic
iswildanddangerous,foritcomesfromtheOtherSide,andtodrawfromthe
worldbelowisfraughtwith peril. The Magus tempers magic with knowledge,
andthusproducesHighArt,butlikethesmithorthecarpenter,heshouldonly
seektochangethatwhichheunderstands.Witheachthinghelearns,hispower
is increased. So must the Magus strive to learn all, to understand the world
entire.Thetreeisonlyasstrongasitsroot,andknowledgeistherootofpower.”
“Don’ttellme,Juvens’PrinciplesofArt?”
“Theveryfirstlines,”saidBayaz.
“Forgive me for saying so, but I’ve been on this world for more than thirty
years, and I’ve yet to understand a single thing that’s happened. To know the
worldcompletely?Tounderstandeverything?That’squiteatask.”
The Magus chuckled. “An impossible one, to be sure. To truly know and
understandevenabladeofgrassisthestudyofalifetime,andtheworldisever
changing.Thatiswhywetendtospecialise.”
“Sowhatdidyouchoose?”
“Fire,” said Bayaz, gazing happily into the flames, the light dancing on his
bald head. “Fire, and force, and will. But even in my chosen fields, after
countlesslongyearsofstudy,Iremainanovice.Themoreyoulearn,themore
you realise how little you know. Still, the struggle itself is worthwhile.
Knowledgeistherootofpower,afterall.”
“Sowithenoughknowledge,youMagicandoanything?”
Bayazfrowned.“Therearelimits.Andtherearerules.”
“LiketheFirstLaw?”MasterandapprenticeglancedupatLogenasone.“It’s
forbidden to speak with devils, am I right?” It was plain that Quai didn’t
rememberhisfeveredoutburst,hismouthwasopenwithsurprise.Bayaz’eyes
onlynarrowedalittle,withthefaintesttraceofsuspicion.
“Why,yesyouare,”saidtheFirstoftheMagi.“Itisforbiddentotouchthe
OtherSidedirect.TheFirstLawmustapplytoall,withoutexception.Asmust
theSecond.”
“Whichis?”
“Itisforbiddentoeatthefleshofmen.”
Logenraisedaneyebrow.“Youwizardsgetuptosomestrangestuff.”
Bayaz smiled. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” He turned to his
apprentice,holdingupalumpybrownroot.“Andnow,MasterQuai,wouldyou
begoodenoughtotellmethenameofthis?”
Logencouldn’thelpgrinningtohimself.Heknewthisone.
“Come,come,MasterQuai,wedon’thaveallnight.”
Logen wasn’t able to stand the apprentice’s misery any longer. He leaned
towardhim,pretendingtopokeatthefirewithastick,coughedtoconcealhis
words and whispered, “Crow’s Foot,” under his breath. Bayaz was a good
distanceaway,andthewindwasstillrustlinginthetrees.Therewasnowaythe
Maguscouldhaveheardhim.
Quai played his part well. He continued to peer at the root, brow knitted in
thought.“IsitCrow’sFoot?”heventured.
Bayazraisedaneyebrow.“Why,yesitis.Welldone,Malacus.Andcanyou
tellmeitsuses?”
Logencoughedagain.“Wounds,”hewhispered,lookingcarelesslyoffintothe
bushes, one hand shielding his mouth. He might not know too much about
plants,butonthesubjectofwoundshehadawealthofexperience.
“Ibelieveit’sgoodforwounds,”saidQuaislowly.
“Excellent,MasterQuai.Crow’sFootiscorrect.Anditisgoodforwounds.I
amgladtoseewearemakingsomeprogressafterall.”Heclearedhisthroat.“It
doesseem curiousthatyou should usethat name however. Theyonlycall this
Crow’s Foot north of the mountains. I certainly never taught you that name. I
wonder who it is you know, from that part of the world?” He glanced over at
Logen. “Have you ever considered a career in the magical arts, Master
Ninefingers?”HenarrowedhiseyesatQuaioncemore.“Imayhavespacefor
anapprentice.”
Malacushunghishead.“Sorry,MasterBayaz.”
“You areindeed.Perhaps youcould cleanthepots forus.That taskmaybe
bettersuitedtoyourtalents.”
Quai reluctantly shrugged off his blanket, collected the dirty bowls and
shuffledoffthroughthebrushtowardsthestream.Bayazbentoverthepotonthe
fire,addingsomedried-upleavestothebubblingwater.Theflickeringlightof
the flames caught the underside of his face, the steam curled around his bald
head.Allinall,helookedquitethepart.
“What is that?” asked Logen, reaching for his pipe. “Some spell? Some
potion?SomegreatworkofHighArt?”
“Tea.”
“Eh?”
“Leavesofacertainplant,boiledupinwater.Itisconsideredquitealuxuryin
Gurkhul.”He poured some ofthebrew out into acup.“Wouldyoulike to try
it?”
Logensniffedatitsuspiciously.“Smellslikefeet.”
“Suit yourself.” Bayaz shook his head and sat back down beside the fire,
wrappingbothhandsaroundthesteamingcup.“Butyou’remissingoutonone
of nature’s greatest gifts to man.” He took a sip and smacked his lips in
satisfaction.“Calmingtothemind,invigoratingtothebody.Therearefewillsa
goodcupofteawon’thelpwith.”
Logenpressedalumpofchaggaintothebowlofhispipe.“Howaboutanaxe
inthehead?”
“That’s one of them,” admitted Bayaz with a grin. “Tell me, Master
Ninefingers,whyallthebloodbetweenyouandBethod?Didyounotfightfor
himmanytimes?Whydoyouhateeachotherso?”
Logen paused as he was sucking smoke from the pipe, let his breath out.
“Therearereasons,”hesaidstiffly.Thewoundsofthattimewerestillraw.He
didn’tlikeanyonepickingatthem.
“Ah,reasons.”Bayazlookeddownathistea-cup.“Andwhatofyourreasons?
Doesthisfeudnotcutbothways?”
“Perhaps.”
“Butyouarewillingtowait?”
“I’llhavetobe.”
“Hmm.Youareverypatient,foraNorthman.”
Logen thought of Bethod, and his loathsome sons, and the many good men
they’d killed for their ambitions. The men he’d killed for their ambitions. He
thoughtoftheShanka,andhisfamily,andtheruinsofthevillagebythesea.He
thoughtofallhisdeadfriends.Hesuckedathisteethandstaredatthefire.
“I’vesettledafewscoresinmytime,butitonlyledtomore.Vengeancecan
feelfine,butit’saluxury.Itdoesn’tfillyourbelly,orkeeptherainoff.Tofight
myenemiesIneedfriendsbehindme,andI’mcleanoutoffriends.Youhaveto
berealistic.It’sbeena whilesince myambitions wentbeyond gettingthrough
eachdayalive.”
Bayaz laughed, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “What?” asked Logen,
handingthepipeacrosstohim.
“Nooffence,butyouareanendlesssourceofsurprises.NotatallwhatIwas
expecting.Youarequitetheriddle.”
“Me?”
“Ohyes!TheBloody-Nine,”hewhispered,openinghiseyesupwide.“That’s
onebastardofareputationyou’recarrying,myfriend.Thestoriestheytell!One
bastard of a name! Why, mothers scare their children with it!” Logen said
nothing.Therewasnodenyingit.Bayazsuckedslowlyonthepipe,thenblew
outalongplumeofsmoke.“I’vebeenthinkingaboutthedaythatPrinceCalder
paidusavisit.”
Logensnorted.“Itrynottosparehimtoomuchthought.”
“NorI,butitwasn’thisbehaviourthatinterestedme,itwasyours.”
“Itwas?Idon’trememberdoingathing.”
BayazpointedthestemofthepipeatLogenfromacrossthefire.“Ah,butthat
ismypointexactly.Ihaveknownmanyfightingmen,soldiersandgeneralsand
champions and whatnot. A great fighter must act quickly, decisively, whether
withhisownarmorwithanarmy,forhewhostrikesfirstoftenstrikeslast.So
fighterscometorelyontheirbaserinstincts,toansweralwayswithviolence,to
becomeproudandbrutal.”BayazpassedthepipebacktoLogen.“Butwhatever
thestories,youarenotsuchaone.”
“Iknowplentywho’ddisagree.”
“Perhaps,butthefactremains,Calderslightedyou,andyoudidnothing.So
youknowwhenyoushouldact,andactquickly,butyoualsoknowwhennotto.
Thatshowsrestraint,andacalculatingmind.”
“PerhapsIwasjustafraid.”
“Ofhim?Comenow.You didn’tseem afraid of Scale and he’sa deal more
worrying.Andyouwalkedfortymileswithmyapprenticeoveryourback,and
thatshowscourage,andcompassiontoo.Ararecombination,indeed.Violence
andrestraint,calculationandcompassion—andyouspeaktothespiritstoo.”
Logen raised an eyebrow. “Not often, and only when there’s no one else
around.Theirtalkisdull,andnothalfsoflatteringasyours.”
“Hah.That’strue.Thespiritshavelittletosaytomen,Iunderstand,thoughI
haveneverspokenwiththem;Ihavenotthegift.Fewhavethesedays.”Hetook
another swallow from his cup, peering at Logen over the rim. “I can scarcely
thinkofanotheronealive.”
Malacusstumbledfromthetrees,shivering,andsetthewetbowlsdown.He
grabbedhisblanket,wrappedittightlyaroundhim,thenpeeredhopefullyatthe
steamingpotonthefire.“Isthattea?”
Bayaz ignored him. “Tell me, Master Ninefingers, in all the time since you
arrivedatmylibrary,youhaveneveronceaskedmewhyIsentforyou,orwhy
nowwearewanderingthroughtheNorthinperilofourlives.Thatstrikesmeas
odd.”
“Notreally.Idon’twanttoknow.”
“Don’twantto?”
“All my life I’ve sought to know things. What’s on the other side of the
mountains?Whataremyenemiesthinking?Whatweaponswilltheyuseagainst
me?WhatfriendscanItrust?”Logenshrugged.“Knowledgemaybetherootof
power,buteachnewthingI’velearnedhasleftmeworseoff.”Hesuckedagain
on the pipe, but it was finished. He tapped the ashes out onto the ground.
“WhateveritisyouwantfrommeIwilltrytodo,butIdon’twanttoknowuntil
it’s time. I’m sick of making my own decisions. They’re never the right ones.
Ignoranceisthesweetestmedicine,myfatherusedtosay.Idon’twanttoknow.”
Bayazstaredathim.ItwasthefirsttimeLogenhadseentheFirstoftheMagi
lookatallsurprised.MalacusQuaiclearedhisthroat.“I’dliketoknow,”hesaid
inasmallvoice,lookinghopefullyupathismaster.
“Yes,”murmuredBayaz,“butyoudon’tgettoask.”
Itwasaroundmiddaythatitallwentwrong.Logenwasjuststartingtothink
thattheymightmakeittotheWhiteflow,maybeevenliveouttheweek.Itfeltas
if he lost his concentration for just a moment. Unfortunately, it was the one
momentthatmattered.
Still, it was well done, you had to give them that. They’d chosen their spot
carefully, and tied rags around their horse’s hooves, to muffle the sound.
Threetreesmighthaveseenitcoming,ifhe’dbeenwiththem,buthehadaneye
forthegroundlikenoother.TheDogmanmighthavesmelledthem,ifhe’dbeen
there,buthehadthenoseforit.Thefactwas,neitherofthemwerethere.The
deadarenohelpatall.
Therewerethreehorsemen,waitingforthemastheyroundedablindcorner,
well armed and armoured, dirty faces but clean weapons, veterans each man.
The one on the right was thickset and powerful-looking, with almost no neck.
Theoneontheleftwastallandgauntwithsmall,hardeyes.Bothofthemhad
round helmets, coats of weathered mail, and long spears lowered and ready.
Theirleadersatonhishorselikeabagofturnips,slouchedinthesaddlewiththe
ease of the expert horseman. He nodded to Logen. “Ninefingers! The Brynn!
TheBloody-Nine!It’srightgoodtoseeyouagain.”
“Blacktoe,”mutteredLogen,forcingafriendlysmileontohisface.“It’dwarm
myhearttoseeyoutoo,ifthingsweredifferent.”
“Buttheyareastheyare.”Theoldwarrior’seyesmovedslowlyoverBayaz,
Quai, and Logen as he spoke, taking in their weapons, or the lack of them,
workingouthisgame.Astupideropponentcouldhaveeveneduptheodds,but
BlacktoewasaNamedMan,andnofool.HiseyescametorestonLogen’shand
asitcreptslowlyacrosshisbodytowardsthehiltofhissword,andheshookhis
headslowly. “None ofyourtricks, Bloody-Nine.You canseewe’ve got you.”
Andhenoddedoveratthetreesbehindthem.
Logen’s heart sank even lower. Two more riders had appeared and were
trotting forwards to complete the trap, their muffled hooves barely making a
soundonthesoftgroundbytheroad.Logenchewedhislip.Blacktoewasright,
damn him. The four horsemen closed in, lowered spear-points swaying, faces
cold,mindssettothetask.MalacusQuaistaredatthemwithfrightenedeyes,his
horse shying back. Bayaz smiled pleasantly as though they were his oldest
friends. Logen would have liked a touch of the wizard’s composure. His own
heartwashammering,hismouthwassour.
Blacktoenudgedhishorseforward,onehandgrippingtheshaftofhisaxe,the
otherrestingonhisknee,notevenusingthereins.Hewasamasterfulhorseman,
famous for it. That’s what happens when a man loses all his toes to the frost.
Riding is quicker than walking, that has to be admitted, but when it came to
fighting Logen preferred to keep his feet firmly on the ground. “Better be
comingwithusnow,”saidtheoldwarrior,“betterallround.”
Logen could hardly agree, but the odds were stacked high against him. A
swordmayhaveavoice,asBayazhadsaid,butaspearisadamngoodthingfor
pokingamanoffahorse,andtherewerefourofthemclosinginaroundhim.He
wascaught—outnumbered,off-guard,andwiththewrongtoolsforthetask.Yet
again. Best to play for time, and hope some chance might show itself. Logen
clearedhisthroat,doinghisbesttotakethefearoutofhisvoice.“Neverthought
you’dmakeyourpeacewithBethod,Blacktoe,notyou.”
The old warrior scratched at his long, matted beard. “I was one of the last,
truthbetold,butIkneltintheend,sameasalltherest.Can’tsayIlikeditany,
butthereitis.Bestletmehavetheblade,Ninefingers.”
“WhataboutOldManYawl?YoutellingmehebowstoBethod?Ordidyou
justfindamastertosuityoubetter?”
Blacktoedidn’tgetupsetbythejibe,notintheleast.Hejustlookedsad,and
tired.“Yawl’sdead,asthoughyoudidn’tknow.Mostof’emare.Bethoddoesn’t
suitmemuchatallasamaster,andnordohissons.NomanlikeslickingScales
fatarse,orCalder’sskinnyone,youshouldknowthat.Nowgiveupthesword,
theday’swastingandwe’vegroundtocover.Wecantalkjustaswellwithyou
unarmed.”
“Yawl’sdead?”
“Aye,” said Blacktoe suspiciously. “He offered Bethod a duel. Didn’t you
hear?TheFeareddoneforhim.”
“Feared?”
“Where’veyoubeen,underamountain?”
“Moreorless.What’sthisFeared?”
“I don’t know what he is.” Blacktoe leaned from his saddle and spat in the
grass.“Iheardhe’snotamanatall.TheysaythatbitchCauribdughimoutfrom
under a hill. Who knows? Leastways, he’s Bethod’s new champion, and far
nastiereventhanthelast,nooffence.”
“Noneatall,”saidLogen.Themanwithnoneckhadmovedinclose.Alittle
toocloseperhaps,thepointofhisspearwashoveringonlyafootortwoaway.
CloseenoughforLogentograbaholdof.Maybe.“OldManYawlwasastrong
hand.”
“Aye. That’s why we followed him. But it done him no good. This Feared
brokehim.Brokehimbad,likehewasnomore’nadog.Lefthimalive,ifyou
could call it that, so we could learn from his mistake, but he didn’t live long.
Mostofuskneltrightthen,thosewithwivesandsonstothinkon.Nosensein
puttingitoff.There’safewofthemstill,upinthemountains,whowon’tbowto
Bethod. That moon-worshipping madman Crummock-i-Phail and his hillmen,
andafewbeside.Butnotmany.Andthosethereare,Bethod’s got plans for.”
Blacktoeheldoutabig,callousedhand.“Betterletmehavetheblade,Bloody-
Nine.Lefthandonly,ifyouplease,slowasslowandnoneofyourtricks.Better
allround.”
Sothatwasit.Outoftime.Logenwrappedthethreefingersofhislefthand
roundthehiltofhissword,thecoldmetalpressingintohispalm.Thebigman’s
spearpointedgedalittlecloser.Thetallonehadrelaxedalittle,confidentthey
hadhim.Hisspearwaspointingupintotheair,unready.Therewasnotelling
what the two behind were doing. The desire to glance over his shoulder was
almostirresistible,butLogenforcedhimselftolookahead.
“Ialwayshadrespectforyou,Ninefingers,eventhoughwestoodondifferent
sides.I’venofeudwithyou.ButBethodwantsvengeance,he’sdrunkonit,and
Isworetoserve.”Blacktoelookedhimsadlyintheeye.“I’msorryit’sme.For
whatit’sworth.”
“Likewise,”mutteredLogen, “I’m sorry it’syou.” He slid the sword slowly
fromthescabbard.“Forwhatit’sworth,”andhesnappedhisarmout,smashing
thesword’spommel intoBlacktoe’s mouth.Theold warriorgavea squawk as
thedullmetalcrunchedintohisteethandtumbledbackwardsoutofthesaddle,
hisaxeflyingfromhishandandclatteringintotheroad.Logengrabbedholdof
theshaftofthebigman’sspear,justbelowtheblade.
“Go!”hebellowedatQuai,buttheapprenticeonlystaredback,blinking.The
man with no neck pulled hard at the spear, nearly jerking Logen out of the
saddle,buthekepthisgrip.Herearedupinthestirrups,raisingtheswordhigh
abovehishead.Necklesstookonehandfromhisspear,hiseyesgoingwide,and
heldituponaninstinct.Logenswungthesworddownwithallhisstrength.
He was shocked by the sharpness of it. It took the big man’s arm off just
belowtheelbowthenstruckintohisshoulder,cleavingthroughthefurandthe
mail beneath and splitting him to his stomach, near in half. Blood showered
acrosstheroad,spatteringinthefaceofLogen’shorse.Itwastrainedforriding
butnotforwaranditrearedandspanaround,kickingandplunginginapanic.It
wasthebestLogencoulddotostayontopofthedamnthing.Outofthecorner
ofhiseyehesawBayazsmackQuai’shorseontherump,anditspedoffwith
theapprenticebouncinginthesaddle,thepackhorsegallopingalongbehind.
Then everything was a mess of plunging and snorting beasts, clashing and
scrapingmetal,cursesandcries.Battle.Afamiliarplace,butnolessterrifying
for that. Logen clung to the reins with his right hand as his horse bucked and
thrashed,swingingtheswordwildlyroundhishead,moretoscarehisenemies
thanhurtthem.Everymomentheexpectedthejoltandsearingpainashewas
stuckthroughwithaspear,thenthegroundtorushupandsmackhimintheface.
HesawQuaiandBayazgallopingawaydowntheroad,hotlypursuedbythe
tallman,hisspearcouchedunderhisarm.HesawBlacktoerollingtohisfeet,
spittingblood, scrambling for his axe.Hesawthe two men who’d comefrom
behindfightingforcontroloftheirowntwistinghorses,spearswavingintheir
hands.Hesawthebodyoftheonehe’djustkilledlollinhalfandtoppleslowly
outofthesaddle,bloodpouringoutoverthemuddyground.
Logensquawkedashefeltaspear-pointdigintothebackofhisshoulder,and
hewasshoved forward,almostover hishorse’shead.Thenhe realisedhewas
facingdowntheroad,andstillalive.Hedughisheelsintotheflanksofhishorse
anditspedaway,sendingmudflyingfromitshoovesandintothefacesofthe
menbehind.Hefumbledtheswordacrossintohisrighthand,nearlydropping
the reins and falling into the road. He shrugged his shoulder but the wound
didn’tfeeltoobad—hecouldstillmovethearmalright.
“I’m still alive. Still alive.” The road flashed by beneath him, the wind
stinging his eyes. He was making ground on the tall man—the rags on his
horse’s hooves were slowing him down now, slipping on the muddy ground.
Logen gripped the hilt of the sword as hard as he could, raised it behind him.
Theheadofhisenemysnappedround,buttoolate.Therewasahollowbonkof
metalonmetalasswordsmashedintohelmet,leavingadeepdentandsending
thetallmansprawling.Hisheadbouncedonceagainsttheroad,footstillcaught
inonestirrup,thenhecamefreeandtumbledoverandoveronthegrass,arms
andlegs flopping.Hisriderless horsegallopedon, eyes rollingat Logenashe
passed.
“Stillalive.”Logenlookedoverhisshoulder.Blacktoewasbackinthesaddle
and galloping after him, axe raised above his head, tangled hair flying out
behind.Thetwootherspearmenwerewithhim,urgingtheirhorsesforwards,but
therewasstillsomedistancebetweenthem.Logenlaughed.Perhapshe’dmake
itafter all. Hewavedhis sword atBlacktoeas the roadentereda wood inthe
valley’sbottom.
“I’mstillalive!”hescreamedatthetopofhisvoice,andthenhishorsepulled
up so suddenly that Logen was almost flung over its head. It was only by
throwingonearmrounditsneckthathekepthisseatatall.Assoonashefell
backintothesaddlehesawtheproblem,anditwasabadone.
Severaltree trunks hadbeenhauled across theroad,their branches chopped
off and the stumps filed down to vicious points, sticking out in all directions.
Two more mailed Carls stood in front, spears at the ready. Even the best of
horsemen couldn’t have jumped that barrier, and Logen wasn’t the best of
horsemen.Bayazandhisapprenticehadreachedthesamedecision.Bothsatstill
ontheirhorsesbeforethebarricade,theoldmanlookingpuzzled,theyoungone
simplyscared.
Logenfingeredthegripofhisswordandcastdesperatelyaround,peeringinto
thetreesforsomewayout.Hesawmoremennow.Archers.One,thentwo,then
threeofthem,creepingslowlyforwardonbothsidesoftheroad,arrowsnocked
andstringsdrawnback.
Logenturnedroundinthesaddle,butBlacktoeandhistwocompanionswere
trottingup,therewasnoescapethatway.Theyreinedinafewstridesaway,well
out of reach of Logen’s sword. His shoulders slumped. The chase was done.
Blacktoe leaned over and spat some blood onto the ground. “Alright, Bloody-
Nine,that’sasfarasyougo.”
“Funny thing,” muttered Logen, looking down at the long grey blade of the
sword,dashedandspatteredwithred.“AllthattimeIfoughtforBethodagainst
you,andnowyoufightforhimagainstme.Seemswe’reneveronthesameside,
andhe’stheonlywinner.Funnything.”
“Aye,”mumbledBlacktoethroughhisbloodylips,“funny.”Butnoonewas
laughing. Blacktoe and his Carls had faces hard as death, Quai looked on the
verge of tears. Only Bayaz, for reasons beyond understanding, still had his
customarygoodhumour.“Alright,Ninefingers,getoffthehorse.Bethodwants
youalive,buthe’lltakeyoudead,ifhehasto.Down!Now!”
Logen’sthoughtsbegantoturntohowtheymightescape,oncehe’dgivenup.
Blacktoewasn’tliketomakeamistakeoncehehadthem.Logenwouldlikelybe
kickedhalftodeathforthefighthe’dgiventhemalready,iftheydidn’ttakehis
kneecaps off. They’d be trussed up tight like chickens for the slaughter. He
picturedhimselfflungdownonthestoneswithhalfamileofchainaroundhim,
Bethod smiling down from his throne, Calder and Scale laughing, probably
pokingathimwithsomethingsharp.
Logenlookedaround.Helookedat thecoldarrowheadsandthecold spear-
points,andthecoldeyesofthemenpointingthem.Therewasnowayoutofthis
littlespot.
“Alright, you win.” Logen threw his sword down, point first. He had it in
mindthatitwouldbiteintothesoilandstandthere,swayingbackandforth,but
ittoppledoverandclatteredagainstthedirt.Itwasthatsortofday.Heslowly
swungonelegoverthesaddleandsliddownintotheroad.
“That’sbetter.Nowtherestofyou.”Quaiinstantlyslitheredoffhishorseand
stood there, glancing nervously up at Bayaz, but the Magus made no move.
Blacktoefrownedandheftedhisaxe.“Youtoo,oldman.”
“Iprefertoride.”Logenwinced.Thatwasnottherightanswer.Anymoment
nowBlacktoewouldgivetheorder.ThebowstringswouldsingandtheFirstof
theMagiwoulddropintotheroad,stuckfullofarrows,probablystillwiththat
infuriatingsmileonhisdeadface.
But the order never came. There was no word of command, no strange
incantation, no arcane gestures. The air around Bayaz’ shoulders seemed to
shimmer, like the air above the land on a hot day, and Logen felt a strange
tuggingathisguts.
Thenthetreesexplodedinawallofsearing,blinding,whitehotflame.Trunks
burst and branches snapped with deafening cracks, venting plumes of brilliant
fire and scalding steam. One burning arrow shot high up into the air over
Logen’shead,andthenthearchersweregone,boiledawayintothefurnace.
Logenchokedandgasped,reeledbackinshockandterror,armuptowardhis
facefrom theblisteringheat. Thebarricadewas sendingupgreat goutsoffire
andblindingsparks,thetwomenwhohadbeenstandingnearwererollingand
thrashing,wreathedinhungryflames,theirscreamslostinthedeafeningroar.
Thehorsesplungedandreeled,snortingwithmadfear.Blacktoewasflungto
thegroundfor thesecondtime,hisflamingaxeflyingfromhishands,andhis
horsestumbledandfell,crashingdownontop ofhim. Oneof hiscompanions
was even less lucky—thrown straight into the sheets of fire by the road, his
despairing cry quickly cut off. Only one stayed upright, and he was lucky
enoughtobewearinggloves.Bysomemiraclehekeptholdoftheburningshaft
ofhisspear.
Howhehadthepresenceofmindtochargewiththeworldonfirearoundhim,
Logenwouldneverknow.Strangethingscanhappeninafight.HechoseQuai
ashistarget,bearingdownonhimwithasnarl,theflamingspearaimedathis
chest. The witless apprentice stood there helpless, rooted to the spot. Logen
barrelledintohim,snatchinguphissword,sendingQuairollingacrosstheroad
withhishandsoverhishead,thenhechoppedmindlesslyatthehorse’slegsasit
flashedpasthim.
The blade was torn from his fingers and went skittering away, then a hoof
slammedintoLogen’sinjuredshoulderandclubbedhimintothedirt.Thebreath
wasknockedfromhimandtheburningworldspancrazilyaround.Hisblowhad
its effect though. A few strides further down the road the horses hacked front
legsgavewayanditstumbled,carriedhelplesslyforward,tumbledandpitched
intotheflames,horseandridervanishingtogether.
Logencastaboutonthegroundforthesword.Sizzlingleaveswhippedacross
theroad,stinginghisfaceandhishands.Theheatwasagreatweightpressing
downonhim,pullingthesweatoutofhisskin.Hefoundthebloodygripofthe
sword,seizedhold of it with histornfingers.He lurched up, staggeredround,
shouting meaningless sounds of fury, but there was no one left to fight. The
flames were gone, as suddenly as they’d arrived, leaving Logen coughing and
blinkinginthecurlingsmoke.
Thesilenceseemedcompleteaftertheroaringnoise,thegentlebreezefelticy
cold. A wide circle of the trees around them had been reduced to charred and
shattered stumps, as though they had burned for hours. The barricade was a
saggingheapofgreyashandblacksplinters.Twocorpseslaysprawlednearby,
barelyrecognisableasmen,burneddowntothebones.Theblackenedbladesof
theirspearslayintheroad,theshaftsvanished.Ofthearcherstherewasnosign
atall.Theyweresootblownawayonthewind.Quailaymotionlessonhisface
withhishandsoverhishead,andbeyondhimBlacktoe’shorselaysprawledout
onitsside,onelegsilentlytwitching,theothersstill.
“Well,” said Bayaz, the muffled noise making Logen jump. He’d somehow
expectedtherewouldneverbeanothersoundagain.“That’sthat.”TheFirstof
the Magi swung a leg over his saddle and slid down into the road. His horse
stood there, calm and obedient. It hadn’t moved the whole time. “There now,
MasterQuai,doyou seewhat canbe achievedwith aproper understandingof
plants?”
Bayaz sounded calm, but his hands were trembling. Trembling badly. He
lookedhaggard,ill,old,likeamanwho’ddraggedacarttenmiles.Logenstared
athim,swayingsilentlybackandforth,thesworddanglingfromhishand.
“Sothat’sArt,isit?”Hisvoicesoundedverysmallandfaraway.
Bayaz wiped the sweat from his face. “Of a sort. Hardly very subtle. Still,”
andhepokedatoneofthecharredbodieswithhisboot,“subtletyiswastedon
theNorthmen.”Hegrimaced,rubbedathissunkeneyesandpeereduptheroad.
“Wherethehelldidthosehorsesgetto?”
LogenheardaraggedgroanfromthedirectionofBlacktoe’sfallenmount.He
stumbledtowardsit,trippedandfelltohisknees,stumbledtowardsitagain.His
shoulderwasaballofpain,hisleftarmnumb,hisfingersrippedandbleeding,
but Blacktoe was in worse shape. Much worse. He was propped up on his
elbows,legscrushedunderhishorserighttothehips,handsburnedtoswollen
tatters. He had a look of profound puzzlement on his bloody face as he tried,
unsuccessfully,todraghimselffromunderthehorse.
“You’ve fucking killed me,” he whispered, staring open-mouthed at the
wreckage of his hands. “I’m all done. I’ll never make it back, and even if I
could,whatfor?”Hegaveadespairinglaugh.“Bethodain’thalfsomercifulas
heusedtobe.Betteryoukillmenow,beforeitstartstohurt.Betterallround.”
Andheslumpedbackandlayintheroad.
Logen looked up at Bayaz, but there was no help there. “I’m not much at
healing,”snappedthewizard,glancingroundatthecircleofblastedstumps.“I
toldyouwetendtospecialise.”Heclosedhiseyesandbentover,handsresting
onhisknees,breathinghard.
LogenthoughtofthefloorinBethod’shall,andthetwoprinces,laughingand
poking.“Alright,”hemuttered,standingupandheftingthesword.“Alright.”
Blacktoesmiled.“You were right, Ninefingers. Inevershouldhavekneltto
Bethod.Never.ShitonhimandhisFeared.Itwouldhavebeenbettertodieupin
themountains,fightinghimtothelast.Theremighthavebeensomethingfinein
that.Ijusthadenough.Youcanseethat,can’tyou?”
“Icanseethat,”mutteredLogen.“I’vehadenoughmyself.”
“Somethingfine,”saidBlacktoe,staringfarupintothegreyskies,“Ijusthad
enough.SoIreckonIearnedthis.Fairisfair.”Heliftedhischin.“Wellthen.Get
itdone,lad.”
Logenraisedthesword.
“I’m glad it’s you, Ninefingers,” hissed Blacktoe through gritted teeth, “for
whatit’sworth.”
“I’mnot.”Logenswungthebladedown.
Thescorchedstumpswerestillsmouldering,smokecurlingupintotheair,but
all was cold now. Logen’s mouth tasted salty, like blood. Perhaps he bit his
tongue somewhere. Perhaps it was someone else’s. He threw the sword down
and it bounced and clattered, shedding red specks across the dirt. Quai gaped
aroundforamoment,thenhefoldedupandcoughedpukeintotheroad.Logen
stareddownatBlacktoe’sheadlesscorpse. “Thatwas agoodman.Betterthan
me.”
“Historyislitteredwithdeadgoodmen.”Bayazkneltstifflyandpickedupthe
sword,wipedthebladeonBlacktoe’scoat,thenhesquinteduptheroad,peering
through the haze of smoke. “We should be moving. Others might be on their
way.”
Logenlookedathisbloodyhands,slowlyturningthemoverandover.They
werehishands,nodoubt.Therewasthemissingfinger.“Nothing’schanged,”he
mumbledtohimself.
Bayazstraightenedup,brushingthedirtfromhisknees.“Whenhasitever?”
He held out the sword out to Logen, hilt first. “I think you’ll still be needing
this.”
Logenstaredatthebladeforamoment.Itwasclean,dullgrey,justasithad
alwaysbeen.Unlikehim,itshowednotsomuchasascratchfromtheharduseit
hadseenthatday.Hedidn’twantitback.Notever.
Buthetookitanyway.
PARTII
“Life—thewayitreallyis—isabattlenotbetweengoodandbad,butbetween
badandworse.”
JosephBrodsky
WhatFreedomLooksLike
Thepointoftheshovelbitintothegroundwiththesharpscrapeofmetalon
earth.Analltoofamiliarsound.Itdidn’tbiteinfar,foralltheeffortputbehind
it,asthesoilwasrockyhardandbakedbythesun.
Butshewasn’ttobedeterredbyalittlehardsoil.
Shehaddugtoomanyholes,andingroundworsefordiggingthanthis.
When the fighting is over, you dig, if you’re still alive. You dig graves for
yourdeadcomrades.Alastmarkofrespect,howeverlittleyoumighthavehad
forthem.Youdigasdeepasyoucanbebothered,youdumpthemin,youcover
themup,theyrotawayandareforgotten.That’sthewayit’salwaysbeen.
Sheflickedhershoulderandasentashovelfulofsandysoilflying.Hereyes
followedthegrainsofdirtandlittlestonesastheybrokeapartintheair,thenfell
acrossthefaceofoneofthesoldiers.Oneeyestaredatherreproachfully.The
other had one of her arrows snapped off in it. A couple of flies were buzzing
lazilyaroundhisface.Therewouldbenoburialforhim,thegraveswereforher
people.Heandhisbastardfriendscouldlieoutinthemercilesssun.
Afterall,thevultureshavetoeat.
The blade of the shovel swished through the air and bit again into the soil.
Anotherclumpofdirttumbledaway.Shestraightenedupandwipedthesweat
fromherface.Shesquintedupatthesky.Thesunwasblazing,straightabove,
sucking whatever moisture remained out of the dusty landscape, drying the
bloodontherocks.Shelookedatthetwogravesbesideher.Onemoretogo.She
would finish this one, throw the earth on top of those three fools, rest for a
moment,thenaway.
Otherswouldbecomingforhersoonenough.
Shestucktheshovelintotheearth,tookholdofthewaterskinandpulledthe
stopperout.Shetookafewlukewarmswallows,evenallowedherselftheluxury
of pouring a trickle out into her grimy hand and splashing it on her face. The
early deaths of her comrades had at least put a stop to the endless squabbling
overwater.
Therewouldbeplentytogoroundnow.
“Water…”gaspedthesoldierbytherocks.Itwassurprising,buthewasstill
alive.Herarrowhadmissedhisheartbutithadkilledhimstill—justalittleless
quickly than she had intended. He had managed to drag himself as far as the
rocks,but his crawlingdays were over. Thestonesaround himwerecoated in
darkblood.Theheatandthatarrowwoulddoforhimsoon,howevertoughhe
was.
Shewasn’tthirsty, buttherewas watertospare andshewouldn’tbeableto
carryitall.Shetookafewmoreswallows,lettingitsloshoutofhermouthand
downherneck.AraretreatouthereintheBadlands,toletwaterfall.Shining
dropsspatteredontothedryearth,turningitdark.Shesplashedsomemoreon
herface,lickedherlips,andlookedoveratthesoldier.
“Mercy…” he croaked, one hand clasped to his chest where the arrow was
stickingoutofit,theotherstretchedweaklytowardsher.
“Mercy?Hah!”Shepushedthestopperbackintotheskin,thentosseditdown
nexttothegrave.“Don’tyouknowwhoIam?”Shegrabbedholdofthehandle
oftheshovel,thepointofitsbladebitoncemoreintotheearth.
“FerroMaljinn!”cameavoicefromsomewherebehindher,“Iknowwhoyou
are!”
Amostunwelcomedevelopment.
Sheswungtheshovelagain,mindracing.Herbowwaslyingjustoutofreach
on the ground by the first grave she had dug. She threw some dirt away, her
sweating shoulders prickling at the unseen presence. She glanced over at the
dyingsoldier.Hewasstaringatapointbehindher,andthatgaveheragoodidea
wherethisnewarrivalwasstanding.
Shedugthepointoftheshovelinagain,thenletgoandsprangforwardoutof
thehole,rollingacrossthedirt,snatchingupherbowasshemoved,notchingan
arrow,drawingbackthestringinonesmoothmotion.Anoldmanwasstanding
about ten strides away. He was making no move forward, was holding no
weapon.Hewasjuststanding,lookingatherwithabenignsmile.
Sheletthearrowfly.
NowFerrowasaboutasdeadlywithabowasit’spossibletobe.Thetendead
soldiers could have testified to that, if they’d been able. Six of them had her
arrows sticking out of them, and in that fight she hadn’t missed once. She
couldn’t remember missing at close range, however quickly the shot had been
taken,andshe’dkilledmententimesfurtherawaythanthissmilingoldbastard
wasnow.
Butthistimeshemissed.
Thearrowseemedtocurveintheair.Abadfeathermaybe,butitstilldidn’t
seemquiteright.Theoldman didn’tflinch,noteven a hair.Hesimplystood,
smiling,exactly wherehe’dalways stood,andthe arrowmissedhim byafew
inchesanddisappearedoffdownthehillside.
Andthatgaveeveryonetimetoconsiderthesituation.
Hewasastrangeone,thisoldman.Verydark-skinned,blackascoal,which
meanthewasfromthefarsouth,acrossthewideandshelterlessdesert.That’sa
journeynotlightly taken, and Ferrohadrarelyseen such people. Tallandthin
with long, sinewy arms and a simple robe wrapped round him. There were
strangebanglesroundhiswrists,stackedupsotheycoveredhalfhisforearms,
glitteringdarkandlightinthesavagesun.
Hishairwasamassofgreyropesabouthisface,somehangingdownaslow
ashiswaist,andtherewasagreystubbleonhislean,pointedjaw.Hehadabig
waterskinwrappedaroundhischest,andabunchofleatherbagshangingfroma
beltaroundhiswaist.Nothingelse.Noweapon.Thatwasthestrangestthingof
all,foramanouthereintheBadlands.Noonecametothisgod-forsakenplace
exceptthosewhowererunning,andthosesenttohuntthem.Ineithercase,they
shouldbewellarmed.
HewasnosoldierofGurkhul,hewasnoscumcomelookingforthemoney
onherhead.Hewasnobandit,noescapedslave.Whatwashethen?Andwhy
washehere?Hemusthavecomeforher.Hecouldbeoneofthem.
AnEater.
WhoelsewouldwandertheBadlandswithoutaweapon?Shehadn’trealised
theywantedherthatbadly.
Hestoodtheremotionless,theoldman,smilingather.Shereachedslowlyfor
anotherarrow,andhiseyesfollowedherwithoutanyworry.
“Thatreallyisn’tnecessary,”hesaid,inaslow,deepvoice.
Shenockedthearrowtoherbow.Theoldmandidn’tmove.Sheshruggedher
shoulders and took her time aiming. The old man smiled on, not a care in the
world.Sheletthearrowfly.Itmissedhimbyafewinchesagain,thistimeonthe
otherside,andshotoffdownthehillside.
Oncewasapossibility,shehadtoadmitthat,buttwicewaswrong.IfFerro
knewonething,andonethingonly,sheknewhowtokill.Theoldfoolshould
have been stuck through and bleeding out his last into the stony soil. Now,
simply by standing still and smiling, he seemed to be saying, “You know less
thanyouthink.Iknowmore.”
Thatwasverygalling.
“Whoareyou,youoldbastard?”
“TheycallmeYulwei.”
“Oldbastardwilldoforyou!”Shetossedherbowdownontheground,lether
armsdroptohersidessothatherrighthandwashiddenfromhimbyherbody.
Shetwistedherwristandthecurvedknifedroppedoutofhersleeveandintoher
waitingpalm.Therearemanywaystokillaman,andifonewayfailsyoumust
tryanother.
Ferrohadneverbeenonetogiveupatthefirststumble.
Yulweibegantomoveslowlytowardsher,hisbarefeetpaddingontherocks,
banglesjinglingsoftlytogether.Thatwasverystrange,nowshethoughtaboutit.
Ifhemadeanoiseeverytimehemoved,howhadhemanagedtosneakupon
her?
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwanttohelpyou.”Hecameforward,untilhewasjustoveranarm’slength
away,thenhestoppedandstood,grinningather.
NowFerrowasfastasasnakewithaknifeandtwiceasdeadly,asthelastof
those soldiers could have testified, had he been able. The blade was a shining
blurintheair,swungwithallherstrengthandallherfurybehindit.Ifhehad
beenstandingwhereshethoughthewas,hisheadwouldhavebeenhangingoff.
Onlyhewasn’t.Hewasstandingaboutastridetotheleft.
Shethrewherselfathimwithafightingscream,rammingtheglitteringpoint
oftheknifeintohisheart.Butshestabbedonlyair.Hewasbackwherehehad
been before, motionless and smiling all the while. Very strange. She padded
roundhim,cautious,sandaledfeetscuffinginthedust,lefthandcirclinginthe
airinfrontofher,righthandgrippedtightroundthehandleoftheknife.Shehad
tobecareful—therewasmagichere.
“Thereisnoneedtogetangry.Iamheretohelp.”
“Fuckyourhelp,”shehissedbackathim.
“But you need it, and badly. They are coming for you, Ferro. There are
soldiersinthehills,manysoldiers.”
“I’lloutrunthem.”
“Therearetoomany.Youcannotoutrunthemall.”
She glanced round at the punctured bodies. “Then I’ll give them to the
vultures.”
“Notthistime.Theyarenotalone.Theyhavehelp.”Ontheword“help”his
deepvoicedroppedevenlower.
Ferrofrowned.“Priests?”
“Yes,andmorebesides.”Hiseyeswentverywide.“AnEater,”hewhispered.
“Theymeantotakeyoualive.TheEmperorwantstomakeanexampleofyou.
Hehasitinmindtoputyouondisplay.”
Shesnorted.“FucktheEmperor.”
“Iheardyoualreadydid.”
Shegrowledandraisedthe knife again, but it was not a knife.Therewasa
hissingsnakeinherhand,adeadlysnake,withitsmouthopentobite.“Ugh!”
Shethrewitontheground,stampedherfootdownonitshead,butshestamped
onherknifeinstead.Thebladesnappedwithasharpcrack.
“Theywillcatchyou,”saidtheoldman.“Theywillcatchyou,andtheywill
break your legs with hammers in the city square, so you can never run again.
ThentheywillparadeyouthroughthestreetsofShaffa,naked,sittingbackwards
onanass,withyourhairshavedoff,whilethepeoplelinethestreetsandshout
insultsatyou.”
Shefrownedathim,butYulweididnotstop.“Theywillstarveyoutodeathin
a cage before the palace, cooking in the hot sun, while the good people of
Gurkhul taunt you and spit on you and throw dung at you through the bars.
Perhapstheywillgiveyoupisstodrink,ifyouarelucky.Whenyoufinallydie
theywillletyourot,andtheflieswilleatyoubitbybit,andalltheotherslaves
willseewhatfreedomlookslike,anddecidetheyarebetteroffastheyare.”
Ferrowasboredwiththis.Letthemcome,andtheEatertoo.Shewouldn’tdie
inacage.Shewouldcutherownthroat,ifitcametothat.Sheturnedherback
onhimwithascowlandsnatcheduptheshovel,starteddiggingawayfuriously
atthelastgrave.Soonitwasdeepenough.
Deepenoughforthescumwho’dberottinginit.
She turned around. Yulwei was kneeling down by the dying soldier, giving
himwaterfromtheskinroundhischest.
“Fuck!”sheshouted,stridingover,herfingerslockedaroundthehandleofthe
shovel.
Theoldmangottohisfeetasshecameclose.“Mercy…”croakedthesoldier,
stretchingouthishand.
“I’llgiveyoumercy!”Theedgeoftheshovelbitdeepintothesoldier’sskull.
Thebodytwitchedbrieflythenwasstill.Sheturnedtotheoldmanwithalook
oftriumph.Hestaredbacksadly.Therewassomethinginhiseyes.Pity,maybe.
“Whatdoyouwant,FerroMaljinn?”
“What?”
“Whydidyoudothat?”Yulweipointeddownatthedeadman.“Whatdoyou
want?”
“Vengeance.”Shespatouttheword.
“On all of them? On the whole nation of Gurkhul? Every man, woman and
child?”
“Allofthem!”
Theoldmanlookedroundthecorpses.“Thenyoumustbeveryhappywith
today’swork.”
She forced a smile onto her face. “Yes.” But she wasn’t very happy. She
couldn’t remember what it felt like. The smile seemed strange, unfamiliar, all
lop-sided.
“And is vengeance all you think of, every minute of every day, your only
desire?”
“Yes.”
“Hurtingthem?Killingthem?Endingthem?”
“Yes!”
“Youwantnothingforyourself?”
Shepaused.“What?”
“Foryourself.Whatdoyouwant?”
Shestaredattheoldmansuspiciously,butnoreplycametoher.Yulweishook
hisheadsadly.“Itseemstome,FerroMaljinn,thatyouareasmuchaslaveas
youeverwere.Orevercouldbe.”Hesatdown,cross-leggedonarock.
Shestaredathimforamoment,confused.Thentheangerbubbledupagain,
hotandreassuring.“Ifyoucametohelpme,youcanhelpmeburythem!”She
pointedoveratthethreebloodycorpses,linedupnexttothegraves.
“Ohno.Thatisyourwork.”
Sheturnedawayfromtheoldman,cursingunderherbreath,andmovedover
to her one-time companions. She took Shebed’s corpse under the arms and
hauledhimovertothefirstgrave,hisheelsmakingtwolittlegroovesinthedust.
Whenshemadeittotheholesherolledhimin.Alugaiwasnext.Astreamofdry
soilranoverhimashecametorestinthebottomofhisgrave.
SheturnedtoNasar’scarcass.Hehadbeenkilledbyaswordcutacrossthe
face.Ferrothoughtitwassomethingofanimprovementtohislooks.
“Thatonelooksagoodsort,”saidYulwei.
“Nasar.” She laughed without amusement. “A raper, a thief, a coward.” She
hawkedupsomephlegmandspatintohisdeadface.Itsplatteredsoftlyagainst
his forehead. “Much the worst of the three.” She looked down at the graves.
“Buttheywereallofthemshit.”
“Nicecompanyyoukeep.”
“Thehunteddon’thavetheluxuryofchoosingtheircompanions.”Shestared
atNasar’sbloodyface.“Youtakewhat’soffered.”
“Ifyoudislikedthemsomuch,whydon’tyouleavethemforthevultures,like
youhavethese others?” Yulwei swepthisarmover the broken soldiers onthe
ground.
“Youburyyourown.”ShekickedNasarintothehole.Herolledforward,arms
flopping, and dropped into the grave face down. “That’s the way it’s always
been.”
She grabbed hold of the shovel and started to heap the stony earth onto his
back.Sheworkedinsilence,thesweatbuildinguponherface,thendrippingoff
ontotheground.Yulweiwatchedherastheholesfilledup.Threemorepilesof
dirtinthewasteland.Shethrewtheshovelawayanditbouncedoffoneofthe
corpses and clattered among the stones. A small cloud of black flies buzzed
angrilyoffthebody,thenreturned.
Ferropickedup her bow and arrowsandslungthem over her shoulder.She
tookthewaterskin,checkeditsweightcarefully,thenshoulderedthatalso.Then
she picked over the bodies of the soldiers. One of them, he looked like the
leader,hadafinecurvedsword.Hehadn’tevenmanagedtodrawitbeforeher
arrowhadcaughthiminthethroat.Ferrodrewitnow,andshetesteditwitha
coupleofsweepsthroughtheair.Itwasverygood:wellbalanced,thelongblade
glitteringdeadlysharp,brightmetalonthehiltcatchingthesun.Hehadaknife
aswellthatmatchedit.Shetooktheweaponsandstuckthemthroughherbelt.
Shepickedovertheotherbodies,buttherewasn’tmuchtotake.Shecuther
arrowsfromthecorpseswhereshecould.Shefoundsomecoinsandtossedthem
away.Theywouldonlyweighherdown,andwhatwouldshebuyouthereinthe
Badlands?Dirt?
Thatwasalltherewas,anditwasfree.
They had a few scraps of food with them, but not enough even for another
day.Thatmeanttheremustbeothers,probablylotsofthem,andnotfaraway.
Yulweiwastellingthetruth,butitmadenodifferencetoher.
Sheturnedandstartedtowalksouthward,downoffthehillandtowardsthe
greatdesert,leavingtheoldmanbehind.
“That’sthewrongway,”hesaid.
Shestopped,squintingathiminthebrightsun.“Aren’tthesoldierscoming?”
Yulwei’seyessparkled.“Therearemanywaysofstayingunnoticed,evenout
hereintheBadlands.”
She looked to the north, out over the featureless plain below. Out towards
Gurkhul.Therewasn’tahill,oratree,orscarcelyabushformiles.Nowhereto
hide.“Unnoticed,evenbyanEater?”
Theoldmanlaughed.“Especiallybythosearrogantswine.They’renothalfas
cleverastheythinktheyare.HowdoyouthinkIgothere?Icamethroughthem,
betweenthem,aroundthem.IgowhereIplease,andItake whoIpleasewith
me.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand, and squinted southward. The desert
stretchedawayintothefardistance,andbeyond.Ferrocouldsurvivehereinthe
wilderness, just about, but out there in that crucible of changing sands and
mercilessheat?
The old man seemed to read her thoughts. “There are always the endless
sands.Ihavecrossedthembefore.Itcanbedone.Butnotbyyou.”
Hewasright,damnhim.Ferrowasleanandtoughasabowstring,butthatjust
meantshewouldwalkincirclesalittlelongerbeforepitchingonherface.The
desertwaspreferabletothecagebeforethepalaceasaplacetodie,butnotby
much.Shewantedtostayalive.
Therewerestillthingstodo.
Theoldmansatthere,cross-legged,smiling.Whatwashe?Ferrotrustedno
one,butifhemeanttodeliverhertotheEmperor,hecouldhaveknockedheron
theheadwhileshewasdigging,insteadofannouncinghisarrival.Hehadmagic,
shehadseenthatforherself,andsomechancewasbetterthannone.
Butwhatwouldhewantinreturn?TheworldhadnevergivenFerroanything
forfree,andshedidn’texpectittobeginnow.Shenarrowedhereyes.“Whatdo
youwantfromme,Yulwei?”
Theoldmanlaughed.Thatlaughwasbecomingveryannoying.“Letusjust
saythatIwillhavedoneyouafavour.Lateron,youcandomeoneinreturn.”
Thatanswerwashorriblythinonthedetails,butwhenyourlife’sonthetable
youhavetotakewhatever’soffered.Shehatedtoplaceherselfinthepowerof
another,butitseemedshehadnochoice.
Notifshewantedtoliveouttheweek,thatis.
“Whatdowedo?”
“We mustwait fornightfall.” Yulweiglanced atthe twistedbodies scattered
abouttheground,andwrinkledhisnose.“Butperhapsnothere.”
Ferroshruggedandsatherselfdownonthemiddlegrave.“Herewilldo,”she
said,“I’veamindtowatchthevultureseat.”
Overheadtheclearnightskywasscatteredwithbrightstars,andtheairhad
turned cool, cold even. Down on the dark and dusty plain below, fires were
burning,acurvedlineoffiresthatseemedtohemtheminagainsttheedgeofthe
desert. She, Yulwei, the ten corpses and the three graves were trapped on the
hillside.Tomorrow,asthefirstlightcreptoverthearidland,thesoldierswould
leave those fires and creep carefully towards the hills. If Ferro was still there
when they arrived, she would be killed for sure, or worse still captured. She
couldnotfightthatmanyonherown,evensupposingtherewasnoEaterwith
them.
Shehatedtoadmitit,butherlifewasinYulweishandsnow.
Hesquintedupatthestarrysky.“Itistime,”hesaid.
They scrambled down the rocky hillside in the darkness, picking their way
carefullyamongthebouldersandtheodd,scrubby,half-deadbush.Northward,
towardsGurkhul.Yulweimovedsurprisinglyfastandshewasforcedtohalf-run
tokeepup,eyesfixedon the ground to find her footing among the dryrocks.
Whentheyfinallyreachedthebaseofthehillandshelookedup,shesawthat
Yulwei was leading her toward the left hand edge of the line, where the fires
weremostnumerous.
“Wait,” she whispered, grabbing his shoulder. She pointed over to the right
handside.Therewerefewerfiresthere,anditwouldbeeasiertoslipbetween
them.“Whataboutthatway?”
ShecouldjustseeYulwei’steethsmilingwhiteinthestarlight.“Ohno,Ferro
Maljinn.Thatiswheremostofthesoldiersare…andourotherfriend.”Hewas
makingnoattempttokeephisvoicedown,anditwasmakingherjumpy.“That
iswheretheyexpectyoutocomethrough,ifyouchoosetogonorth.Buttheydo
notexpectyou.Theythinkyouwillgosouthintothedeserttodie,ratherthan
riskbeingcaptured,asindeedyouwouldhavedone,hadInotbeenhere.”
Yulwei turned and moved off and she crept after him, keeping low to the
ground.Astheydrewnearertothefiresshesawthattheoldmanhadbeenright.
Therewerefiguressittingaroundsomeofthem,buttheywerethinlyspread.The
old man strode confidently toward four fires on the far left, only one of them
manned.Hemadenoeffortto staylow,hisbanglesjingledsoftlytogether,his
barefeetflappedloudonthedryearth.Theywerealmostcloseenoughtoseethe
features of the three men round the fire. Yulwei would surely be seen at any
moment.Shehissedathimtograbhisattention,surethatshewouldbeheard.
Yulwei turned round, looking puzzled in the faint light from the flames.
“What?” he said. She winced, waiting for the soldiers to leap up, but they
chatteredonregardless.Yulweilookedoveratthem.“Theywillnotseeus,nor
hearuseither,unlessyoustartshoutingintheirears.Wearesafe.”Heturnedand
walked on, giving the soldiers a wide berth. Ferro followed, still keeping low
andquiet,ifonlyoutofhabit.
As Ferro came closer she began to make out the words of the soldier’s
conversation.Sheslowed,listening.Sheturned.Shestartedtomovetowardsthe
fire.Yulweilookedround.“Whatareyoudoing?”heasked.
Ferro looked at the three of them. A big, tough-looking veteran, a thin,
weasellytype,andanhonest-seemingyoungman,whodidn’tlookmuchlikea
soldier. Theirweapons werelying around,sheathed,wrappedup,unready. She
circledthemwarily,listening.
“They say she’s not right in the head,” the thin one was whispering at the
youngone,tryingtoscarehim,“theysayshe’skilledahundredmen,ormore.If
you’reagoodlookingfella,shecutsyourfruitsoffwhileyou’restillalive,”he
grabbedholdofhiscrotch,“andeatstheminfrontofyou!”
“Ah,stopyourmouth,”saidthebigone,“shewon’tbecomingnearus.”He
pointed over to where the fires were sparser, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“She’llbegoingtohim,ifshecomesthiswayatall.”
“Well,Ihopeshedoesn’t,”saidtheyoungone,“liveandletlive,sayI.”
Thethinmanfrowned.“Andwhataboutallthegoodmenshe’skilled?And
women and children too? Shouldn’t they have been let live?” Ferro’s teeth
groundtogether.She’dneverkilledchildren,thatshecouldthinkof.
“Well, it’s a shame for them, of course. I’m not saying she shouldn’t be
caught.”Theyoungsoldierglancedaroundnervously.“Justmaybenotbyus.”
Thebigmanletgoalaughatthat,butthethinonedidn’tlookamused.“Youa
coward?”
“No!”saidtheyoungman,angrily,“butIgotawifeandafamilydepending
on me, and I could do without being killed out here, that’s all.” He grinned.
“We’reexpectinganotherchild.Hopingforasonthistime.”
Thebigmannodded.“Myson’snearlygrownnow.Theygetoldsoquick.”
Talkofchildren,andfamilies,andhopesonlymadethefuryinFerro’schest
squeezeharder.Whyshouldtheybeallowedalife,whenshehadnothing?When
themandtheirkindhadtakeneverythingfromher?Sheslidthecurvedknifeout
ofitssheath.
“Whatareyoudoing,Ferro?”hissedYulwei.
Theyoungmanlookedround.“Didyouhearsomething?”
The big one laughed. “I think I heard you shit yourself.” The thin one
chuckled to himself, the young man smiled, embarrassed. Ferro crept rightup
behindhim.Shewasjustafootortwoaway,brightlylitbythefire,butnoneof
thesoldiersevenglancedather.Sheraisedtheknife.
“Ferro!” shouted Yulwei. The young man sprang to his feet, he peered out
across the dark plain, squinting, brow furrowed. He looked Ferro right in the
face,buthiseyeswerefocusedfarbehindher.Shecouldsmellhisbreath.The
bladeoftheknifeglitteredaninchorlessfromhisstubblythroat.
Now.Nowwasthetime.Shecouldkillhimquickly,andtaketheothertwoas
well before the alarm was raised. She knew she could do it. They were
unprepared,andshewasready.Nowwasthetime.
Butherhanddidn’tmove.
“What’sgotupyourarse?”askedthebigsoldier.“There’snothingoutthere.”
“Could’veswornIheardsomething,”saidtheyoungman,stilllookingright
inherface.
“Wait!”shoutedthethinone,jumpingtohisfeetandpointing.“Theresheis!
Rightinfrontofyou!”Ferrofrozeforaninstant,staringathim,thenheandthe
bigmanstartedtolaugh.Theyoungsoldierlookedsheepish,turnedaroundand
satdown.
“IthoughtIheardsomething,that’sall.”
“There’s no one out there,” said the big man. Ferro began to back slowly
away.Shefeltsick,hermouthfullofsourspit,herheadthumping.Shepushed
the knife back into its sheath, turned and stumbled off with Yulwei following
silentlybehind.
When the light of the fires and the sound of the talking had faded into the
distanceshestoppedanddroppeddownonthehardground.Acoldwindblew
up across the barren plain. It blew stinging dust in her face, but she hardly
noticed.Thehateandthefuryweregone,forthetimebeing,buttheyhadlefta
hole,andshe hadnothingelse tofillitwith.Shefeltemptyandcoldandsick
and alone. She hugged herself, rocking slowly back and forth, and closed her
eyes.Butthedarknessheldnocomfort.
Thenshefelttheoldman’shandpressontohershoulder.
Nownormallyshewouldhavetwistedaway,thrownhimoff,killedhimifshe
could.Butthestrengthwasallgone.Shelookedup,blinking.“There’snothing
leftofme.WhatamI?”Shepressedonehandonherchest,butshebarelyfeltit.
“Ihavenothinginside.”
“Well. It’s strange that you should say that.” Yulwei smiled up at the starry
sky. “I was just starting to think there might be something in there worth
saving.”
TheKing’sJustice
As soon as he reached the Square of Marshals, Jezal realised there was
somethingwrong.ItwasneverhalfthisbusyforameetingoftheOpenCouncil.
Heglancedovertheknotsoffinelydressedpeopleashehurriedby,slightlylate
andoutofbreathfromhislongtrainingsession:voiceswerehushed,facestense
andexpectant.
He shouldered his way through the crowd to the Lord’s Round, glancing
suspiciouslyupattheguardsflankingtheinlaiddoors.Theyatleastseemedthe
same as ever, their heavy visors giving nothing away. He crossed the ante-
chamber, vivid tapestries flapping slightly in the draught, slipped through the
inner doors and passed into the vast, cool space beyond. His footsteps made
tappingechoesinthegildeddomeashehurrieddowntheaisletowardsthehigh
table. Jalenhorm was standing beneath one of the tall windows, face splashed
withcolouredlightfromthestainedglass,frowningatabenchwithametalrail
alongitsbasewhichhadbeenplacedtoonesideofthefloor.
“What’sgoingon?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Jalenhorm’s voice was whispery with excitement.
“Hoffsletitbeknownthere’llbesomegreatmattertodiscuss.”
“Whatisit?Angland?TheNorthmen?”
Thebigmanshookhishead.“Don’tknow,butwe’llsoonsee.”
Jezalfrowned.“Idon’tlikesurprises.”Hiseyecametorestonthemysterious
bench.“What’sthatfor?”
Atthatmomentthegreatdoorswereswungopenandastreamofcouncillors
begantoflooddowntheaisle.Theusualmixture,Jezalsupposed,ifalittlemore
purposeful. The younger sons, the paid representatives… he caught his breath.
Therewasatallmanatthe front, richly dressed even in this august company,
withaweightygoldenchainacrosshisshouldersandaweightyfrownacrosshis
face.
“LordBrockhimself,”whisperedJezal.
“Andthere’sLordIsher.”Jalenhormnoddedatasedateoldmanjustbehind
Brock,“andHeugen,andBarezin.It’ssomethingbig.Ithastobe.”
Jezal took a deep breath as four of the Union’s most powerful noblemen
arrangedthemselvesonthefrontrow.HehadneverseentheOpenCouncilhalf
sowellattended.Onthecouncillors’half-circleofbenchestherewasbarelyan
empty seat. High above them, the public gallery was an unbroken ring of
nervousfaces.
Now Hoff blustered through the doors and down the aisle, and he was not
alone. On his right a tall man flowed along, slender and proud-looking with a
long,spotlesswhitecoatandashockofwhitehair.ArchLectorSult.Onhisleft
walkedanotherman,leaningheavilyonastick,slightlybentinarobeofblack
and gold with a long grey beard. High Justice Marovia. Jezal could hardly
believehiseyes.ThreemembersoftheClosedCouncil,here.
Jalenhorm hurried to take his place as the clerks deposited their burdens of
ledgers and papers on the polished tabletop. The Lord Chamberlain threw
himself down in their midst and immediately called for wine. The head of his
Majesty’sInquisitionsweptintoahighchairononesideofhim,smilingfaintly
tohimself.HighJusticeMarovialoweredhimselfslowlyintoanother,frowning
allthewhile.Thevolumeoftheanxiouswhisperinginthehallroseastep,the
faces of the great magnates on the front row were grim and suspicious. The
Announcer took his place before the table, not the usual brightly dressed
imbecile,but a dark, beardedmanwitha barrel chest.Heliftedhis staffhigh,
thenbeatitagainstthetiles,fittowakethedead.
“IcallthismeetingoftheOpenCounciloftheUniontoorder!”hebellowed.
Thehubbubgraduallydiedaway.
“There is but one matter for discussion this morning,” said the Lord
Chamberlain, peering sternly at the house from beneath his heavy brows, “a
matter of the King’s Justice.” There were scattered mutterings. “A matter
concerning the royal licence for trade in the city of Westport.” The noise
increased: angry whispers, uncomfortable shufflings of noble arses on their
benches, the familiar scratching of quills on the great ledgers. Jezal saw Lord
Brock’s brows draw together, the corners of Lord Heugen’s mouth turn down.
Theydidnotseemtolikethe taste of this. The Lord Chamberlain sniffedand
took a swig of wine, waiting for the muttering to die away. “I am not best
qualifiedtospeakonthismatter,however—”
“Noindeed!”snappedLordIshersharply,shiftinginhisseatonthefrontrow
withascowl.
Hofffixedtheoldmanwithhiseye.“SoIcallonamanwhois!Mycolleague
fromtheClosedCouncil,ArchLectorSult.”
“TheOpenCouncilrecognisesArchLectorSult!”thunderedtheAnnouncer,
astheheadoftheInquisitionmadehisgracefulwaydownthestepsofthedais
andontothetiledfloor,smilingpleasantlyattheangryfacesturnedtowardshim.
“MyLords,”hebegan,inaslow,musicalvoice,usheringhiswordsoutinto
spacewithsmoothmovementsofhishands,“forthepastsevenyears,eversince
ourgloriousvictoryinthewarwithGurkhul,anexclusiveroyallicencefortrade
in the city of Westport has been in the hands of the honourable Guild of
Mercers.”
“Andafinejobthey’vedoneofit!”shoutedLordHeugen.
“They won us that war!” growled Barezin, pounding the bench beside him
withameatyfist.
“Afinejob!”
“Fine!”camethecries.
The Arch Lector nodded as he waited for the noise to fade. “Indeed they
have,”hesaid, pacing across the tileslikea dancer, his words scratchingtheir
wayacrossthepagesofthebooks.“Iwouldbethelasttodenyit.Afinejob.”
Hespunsuddenlyaround,thetailsofhiswhitecoatsnapping,hisfacetwisted
intoabrutalsnarl.“AfinejobofdodgingtheKingstaxes!”hescreamed.There
wasacollectivegasp.
“AfinejobofslightingtheKing’slaw!”Anothergasp,louder.“Afinejobof
hightreason!”Therewasastormofprotest,offistsshakenintheairandpapers
throwntothefloor.Lividfacesstareddownfromthepublicgallery,floridones
rantedandbellowedfromthebenchesbeforethehightable.Jezalstaredabout
him,unsureifhecouldhaveheardcorrectly.
“How dare you, Sult!” Lord Brock roared at the Arch Lector as he swished
backupthestepsofthedais,afaintsmileclingingtohislips.
“Wedemandproof!”bellowedLordHeugen.“Wedemandjustice!”
“TheKing’sJustice!”camecriesfromtheback.
“Youmustsupplyuswithproof!”shoutedIsher,asthenoisebegantofade.
The Arch Lector twitched out his white gown, the fine material billowing
aroundhimasheswunghimselfsmoothlybackintohischair.“Ohbutthatisour
intention,LordIsher!”
The heavy bolt of a small side door was flung back with an echoing bang.
TherewasarustlingasLordsandproxiestwistedround,stoodup,squintedover
to see what was happening. People in the public gallery peered out over the
parapet, leaning dangerously far in their eagerness to see. The hall fell quiet.
Jezal swallowed. There was a scraping, tapping, clinking sound beyond the
doorway,thenastrangeandsinisterprocessionemergedfromthedarkness.
Sand dan Glokta came first, limping as always and leaning heavily on his
cane,butwithhisheadheldhighandatwisted,toothlessgrinonhishollowface.
Threemenshuffledbehindhim,chainedtogetherbytheirhandsandbarefeet,
clinkingandrattlingtheirwaytowardsthehightable.Theirheadswereshaved
bare and they were dressed in brown sackcloth. The clothing of the penitent.
Confessedtraitors.
Thefirstoftheprisonerswaslickinghislips,eyesdartinghereandthere,pale
withterror.Thesecond,shorterandthicker-set,wasstumbling,dragginghisleft
legbehindhim,hunchedoverwithhismouthhangingopen.AsJezalwatched,a
thinlineofpinkdrooldangledfromhislipandspatteredonthetiles.Thethird
man, painfully thin and with huge dark rings round his eyes, stared slowly
around, blinking, eyes wide but apparently taking nothing in. Jezal recognised
themanbehindthethreeprisonersstraightaway:thebigalbinofromthatnight
inthestreet.Jezalrockedhisweightfromonefoottotheother,feelingsuddenly
coldanduncomfortable.
Thepurposeofthebenchwasnowmadeclear.Thethreeprisonersslumped
down on it, the albino knelt and snapped their manacles shut around the rail
along its base. The chamber was entirely silent. Every eye was fixed on the
crippledInquisitor,andhisthreeprisoners.
“Our investigation began some months ago,” said Arch Lector Sult,
immensely smug at having the assembly so completely under his control. “A
simplematterofsomeirregularaccounting,Iwon’tboreyouwiththedetails.”
He smiled at Brock, at Isher, at Barezin. “I know you all are very busy men.
Whocouldhavethoughtthen,thatsuchalittlematterwouldleadushere?Who
wouldsupposethattherootsoftreasoncouldrunsoverydeep?”
“Indeed,”saidtheLordChamberlainimpatiently,lookingupfromhisgoblet.
“InquisitorGlokta,thefloorisyours.”
TheAnnouncerstruckhisstaffonthetiles.“TheOpenCounciloftheUnion
recognisesSanddanGlokta,InquisitorExempt!”
The cripple waited politely for the scratching of the clerk’s quills to finish,
leaning on his cane in the centre of the floor, seemingly unmoved by the
importanceoftheoccasion.“RiseandfacetheOpenCouncil,”hesaid,turning
tothefirstofhisprisoners.
Theterrifiedmansprangup,hischainsrattling,lickinghispalelips,goggling
atthefacesoftheLordsinthefrontrow.“Yourname?”demandedGlokta.
“SalemRews.”
Jezalfeltacatchinhisthroat.SalemRews?Heknewtheman!Hisfatherhad
haddealings withhiminthepast, atonetimehehad beenaregular visitorto
their estate! Jezal studied the terrified, shaven-headed traitor with increasing
horror.Hecasthismindbacktotheplump,well-dressedmerchant,alwaysready
withajoke.Itwashim,nodoubt.TheireyesmetforaninstantandJezallooked
anxiously away. His father had talked with that man in their hallway! Had
shakenhandswithhim!Accusationsoftreasonarelikeillnesses—youcancatch
themjust by being inthesameroom! His eyes weredrawninevitably back to
thatunfamiliar,yethorriblyfamiliarface.Howdarehebeatraitor,thebastard?
“YouareamemberofthehonourableGuildofMercers?”continuedGlokta,
puttingasneeringaccentintotheword“honourable”.
“Iwas,”mumbledRews.
“What was your role within the Guild?” The shaven-headed Mercer stared
desperately about him. “Your role?” demanded Glokta, his voice taking on a
hardedge.
“IconspiredtodefraudtheKing!”criedthemerchant,wringinghishands.A
wave of shock ran round the hall. Jezal swallowed sour spit. He saw Sult
smirkingacrossatHighJusticeMarovia.Theold man’s facewas stonyblank,
buthisfistswereclenchedtightonthetablebeforehim.“Icommittedtreason!
Formoney!Ismuggled,andIbribed,andIlied…wewereallatit!”
“All at it!” Glokta leered round at the assembly. “And if any of you should
doubtit,wehaveledgers,andwehavedocuments,andwehavenumbers.There
isaroomintheHouseofQuestionsstuffedwiththem.Aroomfullofsecrets,
andguilt,andlies.”Heslowlyshookhishead.“Sorryreading,Icantellyou.”
“Ihadtodoit!”screamedRews.“Theymademe!Ihadnochoice!”
ThecrippledInquisitorfrowned at his audience. “Of course they made you.
Werealiseyouwerebutasinglebrickinthishouseofinfamy.Anattemptwas
madeonyourliferecently,wasitnot?”
“Theytriedtokillme!”
“Whotried?”
“Itwasthisman!”wailedRews,voicecracking,pointingatremblingfingerat
the prisoner next to him, pulling away as far as the chains that linked them
wouldallow.“Itwashim!Him!”Themanaclesrattledashewavedhisarm,spit
flying from his mouth. There was another surge of angry voices, louder this
time. Jezal watched the head of the middle prisoner sag and he slumped
sideways,butthehulkingalbinograbbedhimandhauledhimbackupright.
“Wakeup,MasterCarpi!”shoutedGlokta.Thelollingheadcameslowlyup.
An unfamiliar face, strangely swollen and badly pocked withacne-scars. Jezal
noticedwithdisgustthathisfourfrontteethweremissing.JustlikeGlokta’s.
“YouarefromTalins,yes,inStyria?”Themannoddedslowly,stupidly,like
someonehalfasleep.“Youarepaidtokillpeople,yes?”Henoddedagain.And
you were hired to murder ten of his Majesty’s subjects, among them this
confessed traitor, Salem Rews?” A trickle of blood ran slowly out from the
man’snoseandhiseyesstartedtorollbackinhishead.Thealbinoshookhimby
theshoulderandhecameround,noddinggroggily.“Whatbecameoftheother
nine?”Silence.“Youkilledthem,didyounot?”Anothernod,astrangeclicking
soundcomingfromtheprisoner’sthroat.
Glokta frowned slowly around the rapt faces of the Council. “Villem dan
Robb,customsofficial,throatcuteartoear.”Heslidafingeracrosshisneckand
awoman inthe gallerysquealed. “SolimoScandi,Mercer,stabbedintheback
four times.” He thrust up four fingers, then pressed them to his stomach as
though sickened. “The bloody list goes on. All murdered, for nothing but a
biggerprofit.Whohiredyou?”
“Him,”croakedthekiller,turninghisswollenfacetolookatthegauntman
with the glassy eyes, slumped on the bench next to him, heedless of his
surroundings.Gloktalimpedover,canetappingonthetiles.
“Whatisyourname?”
Theprisoner’sheadsnappedup,hiseyesfocusingonthetwistedfaceofthe
Inquisitorabovehim.“GofredHornlach!”heansweredinstantly,voiceshrill.
“YouareaseniormemberoftheGuildofMercers?”
“Yes!”hebarked,blinkingmindlesslyupatGlokta.
“OneofMagisterKault’sdeputies,infact?”
“Yes!”
“HaveyouconspiredwithotherMercerstodefraudhisMajestytheKing?Did
youhireanassassintomurdertenofhisMajesty’ssubjects?”
“Yes!Yes!”
“Why?”
“We wereworried theywould tellwhat theyknew… tellwhat theyknew…
tell…”Hornlach’semptyeyesstaredofftowardsoneofthecolouredwindows.
Hismouthslowlystoppedmoving.
“Tellwhattheyknew?”promptedtheInquisitor.
“AboutthetreasonousactivitiesoftheGuild!”theMercerblurted,“aboutour
treasons!Abouttheactivitiesoftheguild…treasonous…activities…”
Gloktacutinsharply.“Wereyouactingalone?”
“No!No!”
The Inquisitor rapped his cane down before him and leaned forward. “Who
gavetheorders?”hehissed.
“Magister Kault!” shouted Hornlach instantly, “he gave the orders!” The
audiencegasped.ArchLectorSultsmirkedalittlewider.“ItwastheMagister!”
The quills scratched mercilessly. “It was Kault! He gave the orders! All the
orders!MagisterKault!”
“Thankyou,MasterHornlach.”
“TheMagister!Hegavetheorders!MagisterKault!Kault!Kault!”
“Enough!”snarledGlokta.Hisprisonerfellsilent.Theroomwasstill.
Arch Lector Sult lifted his arm and pointed towards the three prisoners.
“Thereisyourproof,myLords!”
“Thisisasham!”bellowedLordBrock,leapingtohisfeet.“Thisisaninsult!”
Fewvoicesjoinedhiminsupporthowever,andthosethatdidwerehalf-hearted.
LordHeugenwasnotableforhiscarefulsilence,keenlystudyingthefineleather
ofhisshoes.Barezinhadshrunkbackintohisseat,lookinghalfthesizehehad
beenaminutebefore.LordIsherwasstaringoffatthewall,fingeringhisheavy,
goldenchain,lookingbored,asthoughthefateoftheGuildofMercerswasof
interesttohimnolonger.
BrockappealedtotheHighJusticehimself,motionlessinhistallchairatthe
high table. “Lord Marovia, I beg of you! You are a reasonable man! Do not
allowthis…travesty!”
Thehallfellsilent,waitingfortheoldman’sreply.Hefrownedandstroked
his long beard. He glanced across at the grinning Arch Lector. He cleared his
throat.“Ifeelyourpain,LordBrock,indeedIdo,butitseemsthatthisisnota
dayforreasonablemen.TheClosedCouncilhasexaminedthecaseandiswell
satisfied.Myhandsaretied.”
Brock worked his mouth, tasting defeat. “This is not justice!” he shouted,
turningroundtoaddresshispeers.“Thesemenhaveplainlybeentortured!”
ArchLectorSult’smouthtwistedwithscorn.“Howwouldyouhaveusdeal
with traitors and criminals?” he cried in a piercing voice. “Would you raise a
shield,LordBrock,forthedisloyaltohidebehind?”Hethumpedthetable,asif
it too might be guilty of high treason. “I for one will not see our great nation
handedovertoitsenemies!Neitherenemieswithout,norenemieswithin!”
“DownwiththeMercers!”cameacryfromthepublicbalcony.
“Hardjusticefortraitors!”
“TheKing’sJustice!”bellowedafatmanneartheback.Therewasasurgeof
anger and agreement from the floor, and calls for harsh measures and stiff
penalties.
Brock looked round for his allies on the front row, but found none. He
bunchedhisfists.“Thisisnojustice!”heshouted,pointingatthethreeprisoners.
“Thisisnoproof!”
“His Majesty disagrees!” bellowed Hoff, “and does not require your
permission!” He held up a large document. “The Guild of Mercers is hereby
dissolved! Their licence revoked by Royal decree! His Majesty’s Commission
forTradeandCommercewill,overthecomingmonths,reviewapplicationsfor
traderightswiththecityofWestport.Untilsuchtimeassuitablecandidatesare
found, the routes will be managed by capable, loyal, hands. The hands of His
Majesty’sInquisition.”
ArchLectorSulthumblyinclinedhishead,oblivioustothefuriouscriesfrom
representativesandpublicgalleryalike.
“Inquisitor Glokta!” continued the Lord Chamberlain, “the Open Council
thanksyouforyourdiligence,andasksthatyouperformonemoreserviceinthis
matter.” Hoff held out a smaller paper. “This is a warrant for the arrest of
MagisterKault,bearingtheKing’sownsignature.Wewouldaskthatyouserve
it forthwith.” Glokta bowed stiffly and took the paper from the Lord
Chamberlain’s outstretched hand. “You,” said Hoff, turning his eye on
Jalenhorm.
“Lieutenant Jalenhorm, my Lord!” shouted the big man, stepping smartly
forward.
“Whatever,” snapped Hoff impatiently, “take twenty of the King’s Own and
escort Inquisitor Glokta to the Mercers’ Guildhall. Ensure that nothing and no
oneleavesthebuildingwithouthisorders!”
“Atonce,myLord!”Jalenhormcrossedthefloorandranuptheaisletoward
theexit,holdingthehiltofhisswordinonehandtostopitknockingagainsthis
leg.Gloktalimpedafterhim,canetappingonthesteps,thewarrantforthearrest
of Magister Kault crumpled in his tightly clenched fist. The monstrous albino
hadpulledtheprisonerstotheirfeetmeanwhile,andwasleadingthem,rattling
andlolling,offtowardsthedoorbywhichtheyhadentered.
“LordChamberlain!”shoutedBrock,withonelasteffort.Jezalwonderedhow
much money he must have made from the Mercers. How much he had hoped
stilltomake.Averygreatdeal,evidently.
ButHoffwasunmoved.“Thatconcludesourbusinessfortoday,myLords!”
Marovia was on his feet before the Lord Chamberlain had finished speaking,
evidentlykeentobeaway.Thegreatledgerswerethumpedshut.Thefateofthe
honourable Guild of Mercers was sealed. Excited babbling filled the air once
more,graduallyrisinginvolumeandsoonjoinedbyclatteringandstampingas
therepresentativesbegantoriseandleavetheroom.ArchLectorSultremained
seated, watching his beaten adversaries file reluctantly off the front row. Jezal
metthedesperateeyesofSalemRewsonelasttimeashewasledtowardsthe
small door, then Practical Frost jerked at the chain and he was lost in the
darknessbeyond.
Outside, the square was even busier than before, the dense throng growing
evermoreexcitedasthenewsofthedissolutionoftheGuildofMercersspread
tothosewhohadnotbeenwithin.Peoplestood,disbelieving,orhurriedhereand
there:scared,surprised,confused.Jezalsawonemanstaringathim,staringat
anyone,facepale,handstrembling.AMercerperhaps,oramanintoodeepwith
theMercers,deepenoughtoberuinedalongwiththem.Therewouldbemany
suchmen.
Jezal felt a sudden tingling. Ardee West was leaning casually against the
stonesalittlefurtheron.Theyhadnotmetinsometime,notsincethatdrunken
outburstofhers,andhewassurprisedhowpleasedhewastoseeher.Probably
she had been punished long enough, he told himself. Everyone deserved the
chance to apologise. He hastened towards her with a broad smile on his lips.
Thenhenoticedwhoshewaswith.
“Thatlittlebastard!”hemutteredunderhisbreath.
Lieutenant Brint was chatting freely in his cheap uniform, leaning closer to
Ardee than Jezal thought was appropriate, underlining his tedious points with
flamboyantgesturesofhisarms.Shewasnodding,smiling,thenshetippedher
head back and laughed, slapping the Lieutenant playfully on the chest. Brint
laughed as well, the ugly little shit. They laughed together. For some reason
Jezalfeltasharppangoffury.
“Jezal,howareyou!”shoutedBrint,stillgiggling.
Hesteppedupclose.“That’sCaptainLuthar!”hespat,“andhowIamisnone
ofyourconcern!Don’tyouhaveajobtodo?”
Brint’smouthhungstupidlyopenforamoment,thenhisbrowsdrewintoa
surlyfrown.“Yes,sir,”hemuttered,turningandstalkingoff.Jezalwatchedhim
gowithacontemptevenmoreintensethanusual.
“Wellthatwascharming,”saidArdee.“Arethosethemannersyoushoulduse
beforealady?”
“Ireallycouldn’tsay.Why?Wasthereonewatching?”
Heturnedtolookatherandcaught,justforamoment,aself-satisfiedsmirk.
Quiteanastyexpression,asthoughshehadenjoyedhisoutburst.Hewondered
for a silly instant whether she might have arranged the meeting, have placed
herself and that idiot where Jezal would see them, hoping to arouse his
jealousy…thenshesmiledathim,andlaughed,andJezalfelthisangerfading.
Shelookedveryfine,hethought,tannedandvibrantinthesunlight,laughingout
loud,notcaringwhoheard.Veryfine.Betterthanever,infact.Achancemeeting
was all, what else could it be? She fixed him with those dark eyes and his
suspicionsvanished.“Didyouhavetobesohardonhim?”sheasked.
Jezalfixedhisjaw.“Jumped-up,arrogantnobody,he’sprobablynothingmore
thansomerichman’sbastard.Noblood,nomoney,nomanners—”
“Morethanme,ofallthree.”
Jezalcursedhisbigmouth.Ratherthandragginganapologyfromherhewas
nowinneedofgivingonehimself.Hesoughtdesperatelyforsomewayoutof
thisself-madetrap.“Oh,buthe’sanabsolutemoron!”hewhined.
“Well,”andJezalwasrelievedtoseeonecornerofArdee’smouthcurlupina
slysmile,“heisatthat.Shallwewalk?”Sheslippedherhandthroughhisarm
before he had the chance to answer, and started to lead him off towards the
Kingsway.Jezalallowedhimselftobeguidedbetweenthefrightened,theangry,
theexcitedpeople.
“Soisittrue?”sheasked.
“Iswhattrue?”
“ThattheMercersarefinished?”
“Soitseems.YouroldfriendSanddanGloktawasinthethickofit.Hegave
quitetheperformance,foracripple.”
Ardeelookeddownatthefloor.“Youwouldn’twanttogetonthewrongside
ofhim,crippledorno.”
“No.” Jezal’s mind went back to Salem Rews’ terrified eyes, staring
desperately at him as he vanished into the darkness of the archway. “No, you
wouldn’t.”
A silencedescendedonthemastheystrolleddowntheavenue,butitwasa
comfortable one. He liked walking with her. It no longer seemed important
whether anyone apologised. Perhaps she had been right about the fencing
anyway,justalittle.Ardeeseemedtoreadhisthoughts.“How’stheswordplay
going?”sheasked.
“Notbad.How’sthedrinkinggoing?”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “Excellent well. If only there was a Contest for
that every year, I’d soon come to the attention of the public.” Jezal laughed,
lookingdownatherasshewalkedbesidehim,andshesmiledback.Soclever,
so sharp, so fearless. So damn fine looking. Jezal wondered if there had ever
been a woman quite like her. If only she had the right blood, he thought to
himself,andsomemoney.Alotofmoney.
MeansofEscape
“Openthedoor,inthenameofHisMajesty!”thunderedLieutenantJalenhorm
for the third time, hammering at the wood with his meaty fist. The great oaf.
Whydobigmentendtohavesuchlittlebrains?Perhapstheygetbyonbrawn
toooften,andtheirmindsdryuplikeplumsinthesun.
TheMercers’ Guildhall was an impressivebuildingina busy square not far
fromtheAgriont.Asubstantialcrowdofonlookershadalreadygatheredaround
Gloktaandhisarmedescort: curious, fearful, fascinated, growing all the time.
They can smell blood, it seems. Glokta’s leg was throbbing from the effort of
hurryingdownhere,buthedoubtedthattheMercerswouldbetakenentirelyby
surprise. He glanced round impatiently at the armoured guardsmen, at the
maskedPracticals,atthehardeyesofFrost,attheyoungofficerbeatingonthe
door.
“Openthe—”
Enoughofthisfoolishness.“Ithinktheyheardyou,Lieutenant,”saidGlokta
crisply,“butarechoosingnottoanswer.Wouldyoubesokindastobreakthe
doordown?”
“What?”Jalenhormgawpedathim,andthenattheheavydoubledoors,firmly
secured.“HowwillI—”
Practical Frost hurtled past. There was a deafening crack and a tearing of
woodashecrashedintooneofthedoorswithhisburlyshoulder,tearingitoffits
hingesandsendingitcrashingontotheflooroftheroombeyond.
“Likeso,”mutteredGlokta as he stepped through the archway, the splinters
stillsettling.Jalenhormfollowedhim,lookingdazed,adozenarmouredsoldiers
clatteringbehind.
An outraged clerk blocked the-corridor beyond. “You can’t just—oof!” he
cried,asFrostflunghimoutofthewayandhisfacecrunchedintothewall.
“Arrestthatman!”shoutedGlokta,wavinghiscaneatthedumbstruckclerk.
Oneof the soldiersgrabbedhim roughlywithgauntleted fistsandshoved him
tumbling out into the daylight. Practicals began to pour through the broken
doors, heavy sticks in their hands, eyes fierce above their masks. “Arrest
everyone!”shoutedGloktaoverhisshoulder,limpingdownthecorridorasfast
ashecould,followingFrost’sbroadbackintothebowelsofthebuilding.
ThroughanopendoorGloktasawamerchantincolourfulrobes,facecovered
withasheenof sweatas hedesperately heapeddocumentsontoa blazingfire.
“Seizehim!”screamedGlokta.ApairofPracticalsleapedpastintotheroomand
beganclubbingthemanwiththeirsticks.Hefellwithacry,upsettingatableand
kicking over a pile of ledgers. Loose papers and bits of burning ash fluttered
throughtheairasthesticksroseandfell.
Glokta hurried on, crashes and cries spreading out into the building around
him.Theplacewasfullofthesmellofsmoke,andsweat,andfear.Thedoors
areallguarded,butKaultmighthaveasecretmeansofescape.He’saslippery
one.Wemusthopewearenottoolate.Cursethislegofmine!Nottoolate…
Gloktagaspedandwincedinpain,totteringassomeoneclutchedathiscoat.
“Helpme!”shriekedtheman,“Iaminnocent!”Bloodonaplumpface.Fingers
clutchedatGlokta’sclothes,threateningtodraghimtothefloor.
“Get him off me!” shouted Glokta, beating at him weakly with his cane,
clawing at the wall in his efforts to stay upright. One of the Practicals leaped
forwardandclubbedthemanacrosstheback.
“Iconfess!”themerchantwhimperedasthestickroseagain,thenitcracked
down on his head. The Practical caught hold of his slumping body under the
arms and dragged him back towards the door. Glokta hurried on, Lieutenant
Jalenhormwide-eyedathisshoulder.Theyreachedabroadstaircase,andGlokta
eyeditwithhatred.Myoldenemies,alwayshereaheadofme.Helabouredupas
best he could, waving Practical Frost forward with his free hand. A baffled
merchant was dragged past them and away, squawking something about his
rights,heelskickingagainstthestairs.
Glokta slipped and nearly fell on his face, but someone caught him by the
elbow and kept him upright. It was Jalenhorm, a look of confusion still
splatteredacrosshisheavy,honestface.Sobigmenhavetheirusesafterall.The
youngofficerhelpedhimuptherestofthesteps.Gloktadidnothavetheenergy
torefusehim.Whybother?Amanshouldknowhislimitations.There’snothing
nobleinfallingonyourface.Ishouldknowthat.
Therewasalargeante-chamberatthetopofthestairs,richlydecoratedwitha
thick carpet and colourful hangings on the walls. Two guards stood before a
large door with their swords drawn, dressed in the livery of the Guild of
Mercers.Frostwasfacingthem,handsrolledintowhitefists.Jalenhormpulled
outhisownswordashereachedthelanding,steppingforwardtostandnextto
the albino. Glokta had to smile. The tongueless torturer and the flower of
chivalry.Anunlikelyalliance.
“IhaveawarrantforKault,signedbytheKinghimself.”Gloktaheldoutthe
papersotheguardscouldseeit.“TheMercersarefinished.Youhavenothingto
gainbygettinginourway.Putupyourswords!Youhavemyword,youwillnot
beharmed!”
The two guards glanced at each other uncertainly. “Put them up!” shouted
Jalenhorm,edgingalittlecloser.
“Alright!” One of the men bent down and slid his sword along the boards.
Frostcaughtitunderonefoot.
“And you!” shouted Glokta to the other one. “Now!” The guard obeyed,
throwinghisswordtothefloorandputtinguphishands.AmomentlaterFrost’s
fist crunched into the point of his jaw, knocking him cold and sending him
crashingintothewall.
“But—”shoutedthefirstguard.Frostgrabbedhimbytheshirtandflunghim
downthestairs.Heturnedoverandover,bangingonthesteps,floppingtothe
bottom,lyingstill.Iknowwhatthatfeelslike.
Jalenhorm was standing motionless and blinking, his sword still raised. “I
thoughtyousaid—”
“Nevermindaboutthat.Frost,lookforanotherwayin.”
“Thhh.” The albino padded away down the corridor. Glokta gave him a
moment,thenheedgedforwardandtriedthedoor.Thehandleturned,muchto
hissurprise,andthedoorswungopen.
Theroomwasopulenceitself,nearasbigasabarn.Thecarvingonthehigh
ceiling was caked in gold leaf, the spines of the books on the shelves were
studdedwithpreciousstones,themonstrousfurniturewaspolishedtoamirror
shine. All was over-sized, over-embellished, over-expensive. But who needs
tastewhenyouhavemoney?Therewereseveralbigwindowsofthenewdesign,
largepanes withlittlelead betweenthem,offeringa splendidview of thecity,
thebay,theshipswithinit.MagisterKaultsatsmilingathisvastgiltdeskbefore
themiddlewindowinhisfabulousrobesof office,partly overshadowedby an
enormouscabinet,thearmsofthehonourableGuildofMercersetchedintoits
doors.
Then he has not got away. I have him. I… Tied around the thick leg of the
cabinetwasarope.Gloktafolloweditwithhiseyesasitsnakedacrossthefloor.
TheotherendwastiedaroundtheMagister’sneck.Ah.Sohedoeshaveameans
ofescape,afterall.
“InquisitorGlokta!”Kaultgaveasqueaky,nervouslaugh.“Whatapleasureto
finally meet you! I’ve been hearing all about your investigations!” His fingers
twitchedattheknotontherope,makingsureitwastiedsecurely.
“Isyourcollartootight,Magister?Perhapsyoushouldremoveit?”
Another squeak of merriment. “Oh, I don’t think so! I don’t intend to be
answering any of your questions, thank you!” Out of the corner of his eye,
Gloktasawasidedooredgingopen.Abigwhitehandappeared,fingerscurling
slowlyroundthedoorframe.Frost.Thereisstillhopeofcatchinghim,then.I
mustkeephimtalking.
“Therearenoquestionslefttoanswer.Weknowitall.”
“Do you indeed?” giggled the Magister. The albino edged silently into the
room,keepingtotheshadowsnear thewall,hiddenfromKaultbythebulkof
thecabinet.
“WeknowaboutKalyne.Aboutyourlittlearrangement.”
“Imbecile!Wehadnoarrangement!Hewasfartoohonourabletobebought!
He would never take a mark from me!” Thenhow… Kault smiled a sick little
smile. “Sult’s secretary,” he said, giggling again. “Right under his nose, and
yourstoo,cripple!”Fool,fool—thesecretarycarriedthemessages,hesaw the
confession, he knew everything! I never trusted that smarmy shit. Kalyne was
loyal,then.
Gloktashrugged.“Weallmakemistakes.”
TheMagistergaveawitheringsneer.“Mistakes?That’sallyou’vemade,dolt!
Theworldisnothinglikeyouthinkitis!Youdon’tevenknowwhatsideyou’re
on!Youdon’tevenknowwhatthesidesare!”
“Iamon thesideof theKing,andyouarenot.ThatisallIneedtoknow.”
Frost had made it to the cabinet and was pressed against it, pink eyes staring
intently,tryingto see roundthecorner without beingseen.Just a little longer,
justalittlefurther…
“You know nothing, cripple! Some small business with tax, some petty
bribery,that’sallwewereguiltyof!”
“Andthetriflingmatterofninemurders.”
“Wehadnochoice!”screamedKault.“Weneverhadanychoices!Wehadto
pay the bankers! They loaned us the money, and we had to pay! We’ve been
paying them for years! Valint and Balk, the bloodsuckers! We gave them
everything,buttheyalwayswantedmore!”
ValintandBalk?Bankers?Gloktathrewaneyeovertheridiculousopulence.
“Youseemtobekeepingyourheadabovewater.”
“Seem!Seem!Alldust!Alllies!Thebankersownitall!Theyownusall!We
owethemthousands!Millions!”Kaultgiggledtohimself.“ButIdon’tsuppose
they’llevergetitnow,willthey?”
“No.Idon’tsupposetheywill.”
Kaultleanedacrossthedesk,theropehangingdownandbrushingtheleather
top.“Youwantcriminals,Glokta?Youwanttraitors?EnemiesofKingandstate?
Look in the Closed Council. Look in the House of Questions. Look in the
University.Lookinthebanks,Glokta!”HesawFrost,edgingroundthecabinet
nomorethanfourstridesaway.Hiseyeswentwideandhestartedupfromhis
chair.
“Get him!” screamed Glokta. Frost sprang forward, lunged across the desk,
caughtholdof the flickinghemofKault’srobe of officeas theMagisterspan
roundandhurledhimselfatthewindow.Wehavehim!
TherewasasickeningripastherobetoreinFrost’swhitefist.Kaultseemed
frozeninspaceforamomentasallthatexpensiveglassshatteredaroundhim,
shards and splinters glittering through the air, then he was gone. The rope
snappedtaut.
“Thhhhh!”hissedFrost,glaringatthebrokenwindow.
“Hejumped!”gaspedJalenhorm,hismouthhangingopen.
“Clearly.” Glokta limped over to the desk and took the ripped strip of cloth
from Frost’s hands. Close up it scarcely seemed magnificent at all: brightly
colouredbutbadlywoven.
“Whowould havethought?” mutteredGlokta tohimself. “Poorquality.”He
limped to the window and peered through the shattered hole. The head of the
honourableGuild of Mercerswasswinging slowly backandforth, twenty feet
below, his torn, gold-embroidered gown flapping around him in the breeze.
Cheapclothesandexpensivewindows.Iftheclothhadbeenstrongerwewould
havegothim.Ifthewindowhadmorelead,wewouldhavegothim.Liveshinge
on such chances. Beneath him in the street a horrified crowd was already
gathering: pointing, babbling, staring up at the hanging body. A woman
screamed.Fear,orexcitement?Theysoundthesame.
“Lieutenant,would you be so good astogodown and disperse that crowd?
Thenwecancutourfriendlooseandtakehimbackwithus.”Jalenhormlooked
athimblankly.“Deadoralive,theKing’swarrantmustbeserved.”
“Yes,ofcourse.”Theburlyofficerwipedsweatfromhisforeheadandmade,
somewhatunsteadily,forthedoor.
Glokta turned back to the window and peered down at the slowly swinging
corpse.MagisterKault’slastwordsechoedinhismind.
Look in the Closed Council. Look in the House of Questions. Look in the
University.Lookinthebanks,Glokta!
ThreeSigns
West crashed onto his arse, one of his steels skittering out of his hands and
acrossthecobbles.“That’satouch!”shoutedMarshalVaruz,“Adefinitetouch!
Wellfought,Jezal,wellfought!”
Westwasstartingtotireoflosing.HewasstrongerthanJezal,andtaller,with
abetterreach,butthecockylittlebastardwasquick.Damnquick,andgetting
quicker.HeknewallofWest’stricksnow,moreorless,andifhekeptimproving
at this rate he’d soon be beating him every time. Jezal knew it too. He had a
smile of infuriating smugness on his face as he offered his hand to West and
helpedhimupfromtheground.
“We’re getting somewhere now!” Varuz slapped his stick against his leg in
delight.“Wemayevenhaveourselvesachampion,eh,Major?”
“Verylikely,sir,”saidWest,rubbingathiselbow,bruisedandthrobbingfrom
his fall. He looked sidelong at Jezal, basking in the warmth of the Marshal’s
praise.
“Butwemustnotgrowcomplacent!”
“No,sir!”saidJezalemphatically.
“Noindeed,”saidVaruz,“MajorWestisacapablefencer,ofcourse,andyou
are privileged to have him as a partner but, well,” and he grinned at West,
“fencingisayoungman’sgame,eh,Major?”
“Ofcourseitis,sir,”mutteredWest.“Ayoungman’sgame.”
“BremerdanGorst,Iexpect,willbeadifferentsortofopponent,aswillthe
othersatthisyear’sContest.Lessoftheveteran’scunning,perhaps,butmoreof
the vigour of youth, eh West?” West, at thirty, was still feeling somewhat
vigorous, but there was no purpose in arguing. He knew he’d never been the
most gifted swordsman in the world. “We have made great progress this past
month, great progress. You have a chance, if you can maintain your focus. A
definitechance!Welldone!Iwillseeyoubothtomorrow.”AndtheoldMarshal
struttedfromthesunnycourtyard.
Westwalkedovertohisfumbledsteel,lyingonthecobblesbythewall.His
side was still aching from the fall, and he had to bend awkwardly to get it. “I
havetobegoing,myself,”hegruntedashestraightenedup,tryingtohidehis
discomfortasbesthecould.
“Importantbusiness?”
“MarshalBurrhasaskedtoseeme.”
“Isittobewarthen?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.” West looked Jezal up and down. He was avoiding
West’seyeforsomereason.“Andyou?Whathaveyougotinmindfortoday?”
Jezalfiddled with hissteels.“Er, nothingplanned…not really.” Heglanced
upfurtively.Forsuchagoodcardplayer,themanwasauselessliar.
West felt a niggling of worry. “Ardee wouldn’t be involved in your lack of
planswouldshe?”
“Erm…”
Thenigglingbecameacoldthrobbing.“Well?”
“Maybe,”snappedJezal,“well…yes.”
Weststeppedrightuptotheyoungerman.“Jezal,”heheardhimselfsaying,
slowlythroughgrittedteeth,“Ihopeyou’renotplanningtofuckmysister.”
“Nowlookhere—”
The throbbing boiled over. West’s hands gripped hold of Jezal by his
shoulders. “No, you look!” he snarled. “I’ll not have her trifled with, you
understand?She’sbeenhurtbefore,andI’llnotseeherhurtanymore!Notby
you,notbyanyone!Iwon’tstandforit!She’snotoneofyourgames,youhear
me?”
“Alright,” said Jezal, face suddenly pale. “Alright! I’ve no designs on her!
We’rejustfriendsisall.Ilikeher!Shedoesn’tknowanyonehereand…youcan
trustme…there’snoharminit!Ah!Getoffme!”
West realised he was squeezing Jezal’s arms with all his strength. How had
thathappened?He’donlymeanttohaveaquietword,andnowhe’dgoneway
too far. Hurt before… damn it! He should never have said that! He let go
suddenly, drew back, swallowing his fury. “I don’t want you seeing her any
more,doyouhearme?”
“NowholdonWest,whoareyouto—”
West’sangerbegantopulseagain.“Jezal,”hegrowled,“I’myourfriend,so
I’m asking you.” He stepped forward again, closer than ever. “And I’m her
brother,soI’mwarningyou.Stayaway!Nogoodcancomeofit!”
Jezalshrankbackagainstthewall.“Alright…alright!She’syoursister!”
West turned and stalked towardsthearchway,rubbingthe back of his neck,
hisheadthumping.
Lord Marshal Burr was sitting and staring out of the window when West
arrived at his offices. A big, grim, beefy man with a thick brown beard and a
simple uniform. West wondered how bad the news would be. If the Marshal’s
facewasanythingtogobyitwasverybadindeed.
“MajorWest,”hesaid, glaringupfrom under hisheavybrows. “Thankyou
forcoming.”
“Ofcourse,sir.”Westnoticedthreeroughly-madewoodenboxesonatableby
thewall.Burrsawhimlookingatthem.
“Gifts,”hesaidsourly,“fromourfriendinthenorth,Bethod.”
“Gifts?”
“FortheKing,itseems.”TheMarshalscowledandsuckedathisteeth.“Why
don’tyouhavealookatwhathesentus,Major?”
West walked over tothetable, reached out and cautiouslyopenedthe lid of
one of the boxes. An unpleasant smell flowed out, like well-rotted meat, but
there was nothing inside but some brown dirt. He opened the next box. The
smellwasworse.Morebrowndirt,cakedaroundtheinside,andsomehair,some
strandsofyellowhair.Westswallowed,lookedupatthefrowningLordMarshal.
“Isthisall,sir?”
Burrsnorted.“Ifonly.Therestwehadtobury.”
“Bury?”
The Marshal picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “Captain Silber,
CaptainHoss,ColonelArinhorm.Thosenamesmeananythingtoyou?”
West felt sick. That smell. It reminded him of Gurkhul somehow, of the
battlefield.“ColonelArinhorm,Iknow,”hemumbled,staringatthethreeboxes,
“byreputation.He’scommanderofthegarrisonatDunbrec.”
“Was,”correctedBurr,“andtheothertwocommandedsmalloutpostsnearby,
onthefrontier.”
“Thefrontier?”mumbledWest,buthealreadyguessedwhatwascoming.
“Their heads, Major. The Northmen sent us their heads.” West swallowed,
lookingattheyellowhairsstucktotheinsideofthebox.“Threesigns,theysaid,
when it was time.” Burr got up from his chair and stood, looking out of the
window.“Theoutpostswerenothing:woodenbuildingsmostly,apalisadewall,
ditches and so on, lightly manned. Little strategic importance. Dunbrec is
anothermatter.”
“ItcommandsthefordsontheWhiteflow,”saidWestnumbly,“thebestway
outofAngland.”
“Or in. A vital point. Considerable time and resources were spent on the
defences there. The very latest designs were used, our finest architects. A
garrisonofthreehundredmen,withstoresofweaponsandfoodtostandayear
of siege. It was considered impregnable, the lynchpin of our plans for the
defenceofthefrontier.”Burrfrowned,deepgroovesappearingacrossthebridge
ofhisnose.“Gone.”
West’sheadhadstartedhurtingagain.“When,sir?”
“When is the question. It must have been at least two weeks ago, for these
“gifts”tohavereachedus.Iambeingcalleddefeatist,”saidBurrsourly,“butI
guessthattheNorthmenarelooseandthat,bynow, theyhave overrunhalf of
northernAngland.Aminingcommunityortwo,severalpenalcolonies,nothing
sofarofmajorimportance,notownstospeakof,buttheyarecoming,West,and
fast, you may be sure of that. You don’t send heads to your enemy, then wait
politelyforareply.”
“Whatisbeingdone?”
“Precious little! Angland is in uproar, of course. Lord Governor Meed is
raising every man, determined to march out and beat Bethod on his own, the
idiot. Varying reports place the Northmen anywhere and everywhere, with a
thousand men or a hundred thousand. The ports are choked with civilians
desperatetoescape,rumoursarerifeofspiesandmurdererslooseinthecountry,
and mobs seek out citizens with Northern blood and beat them, rob them, or
worse.Putsimply,itischaos.Meanwhilewesithereonourfatarses,waiting.”
“But…weren’twewarned?Didn’tweknow?”
“Ofcourse!”Burrthrewhisbroadhandupintheair,“butnoonetookitvery
seriously,wouldyoubelieve!Damnpaintedsavagestabshimselfonthefloorof
the Open Council, challengess us before the King, and nothing is done!
Governmentbycommittee!Everyonepullingtheirownway!Youcanonlyreact,
never prepare!” The Marshal coughed and burped, spat on the floor. “Gah!
Damn it! Damn indigestion!” He sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach
unhappily.
Westhardlyknewwhattosay.“Howdoweproceed?”hemumbled.
“We’ve been ordered north immediately, meaning as soonasanyonecanbe
bothered to supply me with men and arms. The King, meaning that drunkard
Hoff,hascommandedmetobringtheseNorthmentoheel.Twelveregimentsof
theKing’sOwn—sevenoffootandfiveofhorse,tobefleshedoutwithlevies
fromthearistocracy,andwhatevertheAnglandershaven’tsquanderedbeforewe
getthere.”
West shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That should be an overwhelming
force.”
“Huh,” grunted the Marshal. “It better be. It’s everything we have, more or
less,andthatworriesme.”Westfrowned.“Dagoska,Major.Wecannotfightthe
GurkishandtheNorthmenbothatonce.”
“But surely, sir, the Gurkish, they wouldn’t risk another war so soon? I
thoughtitwasallidletalk?”
“I hope so, I hope so.” Burr pushed some papers absently around his desk.
“But this new Emperor, Uthman, is not what we were expecting. He was the
youngestson,butwhenheheardofhisfather’sdeath…hehadallhisbrothers
strangled.Strangledthemhimself,somesay.Uthman-ul-Dosht,theyarecalling
him. Uthman the Merciless. He has already declared his intention to recapture
Dagoska.Emptytalk,perhaps.Perhapsnot.”Burrpursedhislips.“Theysayhe
has spies everywhere. He might even now be learning of our troubles in
Angland,mightevennowbepreparingtotakeadvantageofourweakness.We
mustbedonequicklywiththeseNorthmen.Veryquickly.Twelveregimentsand
leviesfromthenoblemen.Andfromthatpointofviewitcouldnotbeaworse
time.”
“Sir?”
“ThisbusinesswiththeMercers.Abadbusiness.Someofthebignoblemen
got stung. Brock, Isher, Barezin, and others. Now they’re dragging their feet
with the levies. Who knows what they’ll send us, or when? Bunch of half-
starved,unarmedbeggarsprobably,anexcusetocleanthescrapingsfromtheir
land.Auselesscrowdofextramouthstofeed,andclothe,andarm,andweare
desperatelyshortofgoodofficers.”
“Ihavesomegoodmeninmybattalion.”
Burr twitched impatiently. “Good men, yes! Honest men, enthusiastic men,
but not experienced! Most of those who fought in the South did not enjoy it.
Theyhaveleftthearmy,andhavenointentionofreturning.Haveyouseenhow
youngtheofficersarethesedays?We’readamnfinishingschool!AndnowHis
HighnessthePrincehasexpressedhisinterestinacommand.Hedoesn’teven
knowwhichendofaswordtohold,butheissetongloryandIcannotrefuse
him!”
“PrinceRaynault?”
“Ifonly!”shoutedBurr.“Raynaultmightactuallybeofsomeuse!It’sLadisla
I’mtalkingof!Commandingadivision!Amanwhospendsathousandmarksa
monthonclothes!Hislackofdisciplineisnotorious!I’vehearditsaidthathe’s
forcedhimselfonmorethanoneservantinthepalace,butthattheArchLector
wasabletosilencethegirls.”
“Surely not,” said West, although he had actually heard such a rumour
himself.
“The heir to the throne, in harm’s way, when the King is in poor health? A
ludicrousnotion!”Burrgotup,burpingandwincing.“Damnthisstomach!”He
stalkedovertothewindowandfrownedoutacrosstheAgriont.
“Theythinkitwillbeeasilysettled,”hesaidquietly.“TheClosedCouncil.A
little jaunt in Angland, done with before the first snow falls. In spite of this
shockwithDunbrec.Theyneverlearn.Theysaidthesameaboutourwarwith
theGurkish,andthatnearlyfinishedus.TheseNorthmenarenottheprimitives
theythink.IfoughtwithNorthernmercenariesinStarikland:hardmenusedto
hardlives,raisedonwarfare,fearlessandstubborn,expertatfightinginthehills,
intheforests,inthecold.Theydonotfollowourrules,orevenunderstandthem.
Theywillbringaviolenceandasavagerytothebattlefieldthatwouldmakethe
Gurkish blush.” Burr turned away from the window, back to West. “You were
borninAngland,weren’tyou,Major?”
“Yes, sir, in the south, near Ostenhorm. My family’s farm was there, before
myfatherdied…”Hetrailedoff.
“Youwereraisedthere?”
“Yes.”
“Youknowthelandthen?”
Westfrowned.“Inthatregion,sir,butIhavenotbeenbackfor—”
“DoyouknowtheseNorthmen?”
“Some.TherearestillmanylivinginAngland.”
“Youspeaktheirtongue?”
“Yes,alittle,buttheyspeakmany—”
“Good.Iamputtingtogetherastaff,goodmenIcanrelyontocarryoutmy
orders, and see to it that this army of ours does not fall apart before it even
comesintocontactwiththeenemy”
“Of course, sir.” West racked his brains. “Captain Luthar is a capable and
intelligentofficer,LieutenantJalenhorm—”
“Bah!”shoutedBurr,wavinghishandinfrustration,“IknowLuthar,theboy’s
a cretin! Just the sort of bright-eyed child that I was talking about! It’s you I
need,West.”
“Me?”
“Yes,you!MarshalVaruz,theUnion’smostfamoussoldiernoless,hasgiven
youaglowingreport.Hesaysyouareamostcommitted,tenacious,andhard-
working officer. The very qualities I need! As a Lieutenant you fought in
GurkhulunderColonelGlokta,didyounot?”
Westswallowed.“Well,yes.”
“AnditiswellknownyouwerefirstthroughthebreachatUlrioch.”
“Well,amongthefirst,Iwas—”
“Youhaveledmeninthefield,andyourpersonalcourageisbeyondquestion!
Thereisnoneedtobemodest,Major,youarethemanforme!”Burrsatback,a
smileonhisface,confidenthehadmadehispoint.Heburpedagain,holdingup
hishand.“Myapologies…damnindigestion!”
“Sir,mayIbeblunt?”
“Iamnocourtier,West.Youmustalwaysbebluntwithme.Idemandit!”
“AnappointmentonaLordMarshal’sstaff,sir,youmustunderstand.Iama
gentleman’s son. A commoner. As commander of a battalion, I already have
difficultygainingtherespectofthejuniorofficers.ThemenIwouldhavetogive
orderstoifIwereonyourstaff,sir,seniormenwithgoodblood…”Hepaused,
exasperated.TheMarshalgazedblanklyathim.“Theywillnotpermitit!”
Burr’seyebrowsdrewtogether.“Permitit?”
“Theirpridewillnotallowit,sir,their—”
“Damntheirpride!”Burrleanedforward,hisdarkeyesfixedonWest’sface.
“Nowlistento me, and listencarefully.Timesarechanging. I don’tneed men
withgoodblood.Ineedmenwhocanplan,andorganise,giveorders,andfollow
them.There willlie noroomin myarmyfor thosewho cannotdoas theyare
told,Idon’tcarehownobletheyare.Asamemberofmystaffyourepresentme,
and I will not be slighted or ignored.” He burped suddenly, and smashed the
tablewithhisfist.“Iwillseetoit!”heroared.“Timesarechanging!Theymay
notsmellityet,buttheysoonwill!”
Weststareddumblyback.“Inanycase,”andBurrwavedadismissivehand,“I
amnotconsultingwithyou,Iaminformingyou.Thisisyournewassignment.
YourKingneedsyou,yourcountryneedsyou,andthatisall.Youhavefivedays
tohandovercommandofyourbattalion.”AndtheLordMarshalturnedbackto
hispapers.
“Yes,sir,”mutteredWest.
Hefumbledthedoorshutbehindhimwithnumbfingers,walkedslowlydown
the hallway, staring at the floor. War. War in the North. Dunbrec fallen, the
Northmen loose in Angland. Officers hurried around him. Someone brushed
past,buthehardlynoticed.Therewerepeopleindanger,mortaldanger!People
heknewmaybe,neighboursfromhome.Therewasfightingevennow,insidethe
Union’s borders!Herubbed hisjaw.This war couldbe a terriblething. Worse
thanGurkhul had been,even,and he wouldbeat the heartofit. Aplaceona
Lord Marshal’s staff. Him? Collem West? A commoner? He still could hardly
believeit.
West felt a sneaking, guilty glow of satisfaction. It was for just such an
appointmentthathehadbeenworkinglikeadogalltheseyears.Ifhedidwell
there was no telling where he might go. This war was a bad thing, a terrible
thing,nodoubt.Hefelthimselfgrinning.Aterriblething.Butitjustmightbe
themakingofhim.
TheTheatricalOutfitter’s
The deck creaked and shifted beneath his feet, the sail-cloth flapped gently,
seabirdscrowedandcalledinthesaltyairabove.
“Ineverthoughttoseesuchathing,”mutteredLogen.
The city was a huge white crescent, stretching all round the wide blue bay,
sprawlingacrossmanybridges,tinyinthedistance,andontorockyislandsinthe
sea.Hereandtheregreenparks stoodout fromthe confusionof buildings,the
thin grey lines of rivers and canals shone in the sun. There were walls too,
studded with towers, skirting the distant edge of the city and striking boldly
throughthejumbleofhouses.Logen’sjawhungstupidlyopen,hiseyesdarted
hereandthere,unabletotakeinthewhole.
“Adua,” murmured Bayaz. “The centre of the world. The poets call her the
cityofwhitetowers.Beautiful,isn’tshe,from adistance?” TheMagus leaned
towardshim.“Believeme,though,shestinkswhenyougetclose.”
A vast fortress rose up from within the city, its sheer white walls towering
abovethecarpetofbuildingsoutside,brightsunlightglintingonshiningdomes
within. Logen had never dreamed of a man-made thing so great, so proud, so
strong. One tower in particular rose high, high over all the others, a tapering
clusterofsmooth,darkpillars,seemingtosupporttheverysky.
“AndBethodmeanstomakewaronthis?”hewhispered.“Hemustbemad.”
“Perhaps.Bethod,forallhiswasteandpride,understandstheUnion.”Bayaz
nodded towards the city. “They are jealous of one another, all those people. It
may be a union in name, but they fight each other tooth and nail. The lowly
squabbleovertrifles.Thegreatwagesecretwarsforpowerandwealth,andthey
callitgovernment.Warsofwords,andtricks,andguile,butnolessbloodyfor
that. The casualties are many.” The Magus sighed. “Behind those walls they
shoutandargueandendlesslybiteoneanother’sbacks.Oldsquabblesarenever
settled, but thrive, and put down roots, and the roots grow deeper with the
passingyears.Ithasalwaysbeenso.Theyarenotlikeyou,Logen.Amanhere
cansmile,andfawn,andcallyoufriend,giveyougiftswithonehandandstab
youwiththeother.Youwillfindthisastrangeplace.”
Logenalreadyfounditthestrangestthinghehadeverseen.Therewasnoend
toit.Astheirboatslippedintothebaythecityseemedtogrowmorevastthan
ever.Aforestofwhitebuildings,speckledwithdarkwindows,embracingthem
on all sides, covering the hills in roofs and towers, crowding together, wall
squashedtowall,pressingupagainstthewaterontheshoreline.
Shipsandboatsofalldesignsviedwitheachotherinthebay,sailsbillowing,
crewmen crying out over the noise of the spray, hurrying about the decks and
crawlingthroughtherigging.Someweresmallereventhantheirownlittletwo-
sailed boat. Some were far larger. Logen gawped, amazed, as a huge vessel
ploughedthroughthewatertowardsthem,shiningsprayflyingfromitsprow.A
mountainofwood,floatingbysomemagicinthesea.Theshippassed,leaving
them rocking in its wake, but there were more, many more, tethered to the
countlesswharvesalongtheshore.
Logen,shieldinghiseyesagainstthebrightsunwithonehand,begantomake
out people on the sprawling docks. He began to hear them too, a faint din of
voicescryingandcartsrattlingandcargoesclatteringtotheground.Therewere
hundreds of tiny figures, swarming among the ships and buildings like black
ants.“Howmanylivehere?”hewhispered.
“Thousands.” Bayaz shrugged. “Hundreds of thousands. People from every
landwithintheCircleoftheWorld.ThereareNorthmenhere,anddark-skinned
KanticsfromGurkhulandbeyond.PeoplefromtheOldEmpire,fartothewest,
andmerchantsoftheFreeCitiesofStyria.Otherstoo,fromstillfurtheraway—
the Thousand Islands, distant Suljuk, and Thond, where they worship the sun.
More people than can be counted—living, dying, working, breeding, climbing
oneupontheother.Welcome,” and Bayazspreadhisarmswide to encompass
themonstrous,thebeautiful,theendlesscity,“tocivilisation!”
Hundreds of thousands. Logen struggled to understand it. Hundreds… of
thousands.Couldtherebesomanypeopleintheworld?Hestaredatthecity,all
around him, wondering, rubbing his aching eyes. What might a hundred
thousandpeoplelooklike?
Anhourlaterheknew.
Onlyin battle hadLogen ever beensosquashed, hemmed,pressedby other
people.Itwaslikeabattle,hereonthedocks—thecries,theanger,thecrush,the
fearandconfusion.Abattlein whichno mercywas shown,and whichhad no
end and no winners. Logen was used to the open sky, the air around him, his
owncompany.Ontheroad,whenBayazandQuaihadriddenclosebesidehim,
he’d felt squeezed. Now there were people on every side, pushing, jostling,
shouting. Hundreds of them! Thousands! Hundreds of thousands! Could they
really all be people? People like him with thoughts and moods and dreams?
Facesloomedupandflashedby—surly,anxious,frowning,goneinasickening
whirl of colour. Logen swallowed, blinked. His throat was painfully dry. His
headspan.Surelythiswashell.Heknewhedeservedtobehere,buthedidn’t
rememberdying.
“Malacus!” he hissed desperately. The apprentice looked round. “Stop a
moment!”Logenpulledathiscollar,tryingtoletsomeairin.“Ican’tbreathe!”
Quaigrinned.“Itmightjustbethesmell.”
It might at that. The docks smelled like hell, and no mistake. The reek of
stinkingfish,sicklyspices,rottingfruit,freshdung,sweatinghorsesandmules
andpeople,mingledandbredunderthehotsunandbecameworsebyfarthan
anyonealone.
“Move!”AshoulderknockedLogenroughlyasideandwasgone.Heleaned
againstagrimywallandwipedsweatfromhisface.
Bayazwassmiling.“NotlikethewideandbarrenNorth,eh,Ninefingers?”
“No.” Logen watched the people milling past—the horses, the carts, the
endlessfaces.Amanstaredsuspiciouslyathimashepassed.Aboypointedat
him and shouted something. A woman with a basket gave him a wide berth,
staringfearfullyupasshehurriedby.Nowhehadamomenttothink,theywere
alllooking,andpointing,andstaring,andtheydidn’tlookhappy.
LogenleaneddowntoMalacus.“IamfearedandhatedthroughouttheNorth.
Idon’tlikeit,butIknowwhy.”Asullengroupofsailorsstaredathimwithhard
eyes,mutteringtoeachotherundertheirbreath.Hewatchedthem,puzzled,until
theydisappearedbehindarumblingwagon.“Whydotheyhatemehere?”
“Bethod has moved quickly,” muttered Bayaz, frowning out at the crowds.
“His war with the Union has already begun. We will not find the North too
popularinAdua,Ifear.”
“HowdotheyknowwhereI’mfrom?”Malacusraisedaneyebrow.“Youstick
outsomewhat.”Logenflinchedasapairoflaughingyouthsflashedbyhim.“I
do?Amongallthis?”
“Onlylikeahuge,scarred,dirtygatepost.”
“Ah.”Helookeddownathimself.“Isee.”
Awayfromthedocksthecrowdsgrewsparser,theaircleaner,thenoisefaded.
Itwasstillteeming,stinking,andnoisy,butatleastLogencouldtakeabreath.
They passed across wide paved squares, decorated with plants and statues,
where brightly-painted wooden signs hung over doors—blue fish, pink pigs,
purplebunchesofgrapes,brownloavesofbread.Thereweretablesandchairs
outin thesunwhere peoplesatand atefrom flatpots,drank fromgreenglass
cups. They threaded through narrow alleys, where rickety-looking wood and
plaster buildings leaned out over them, almost meeting above their heads,
leaving only a thin strip of blue sky between. They wandered down wide,
cobbled roads, busy with people and lined with monstrous white buildings.
Logenblinkedandgapedatallofit.
Onnomoor,howeverfoggy,innoforest,howeverdense,hadLogeneverfelt
socompletelylost.Hehadnoideanowinwhatdirectiontheboatwas,though
they’d left it no more than half an hour ago. The sun was hidden behind the
toweringbuildingsandeverythinglookedthe same.He wasterrified he’dlose
trackofBayazandQuaiinthecrowds,andbelostforever.Hehurriedafterthe
backofthewizard’sbaldhead,followinghimintoanopenspace.Agreatroad,
bigger than any they’d seen so far, bounded on either side by white palaces
behindhighwallsandfences,linedwithancienttrees.
The people here were different. Their clothes were bright and gaudy, cut in
strangestylesthatservednopurpose.Thewomenhardlyseemedlikepeopleat
all—paleandbony,swaddledinshiningfabric,flappingatthemselvesinthehot
sunwithpiecesofclothstretchedoversticks.
“Wherearewe?”heshoutedatBayaz.Ifthe wizardhadanswered thatthey
wereonthemoon,Logenwouldnothavebeensurprised.
“ThisistheMiddleway,oneofthecity’smainthoroughfares!Itcutsthrough
theverycentreofthecitytotheAgriont!”
“Agriont?”
“Fortress, palace, barracks, seat of government. A city within the city. The
heartoftheUnion.That’swherewe’regoing.”
“We are?” A group of sour young men stared suspiciously at Logen as he
passedthem.“Willtheyletusin?”
“Ohyes.Buttheywon’tlikeit.”
Logenstruggledonthroughthecrowds.Everywherethesuntwinkledonthe
panesofglasswindows,hundredsofthem.Carleonhadafewglasswindowsin
the grandest buildings, at least before they’d sacked the city. Precious few
afterwards,ithadtobeadmitted.Preciouslittleofanything.TheDogmanhad
lovedthesoundtheglassmadeasitbroke.He’dproddedatthewindowswitha
spear,agreatbigsmileonhisface,delightedbythecrashandtinkle.
Thathadhardlybeentheworstofit.BethodhadgiventhecitytohisCarlsfor
threedays.Thatwashiscustom,andtheylovedhimforit.Logenhadlosthis
fingerinthebattlethedaybefore,andthey’dclosedthewoundwithhotiron.It
throbbed, and throbbed, and the pain had made him savage. As though he’d
neededanexcuseforviolencebackthen.Herememberedthestinkofblood,and
sweat,andsmoke.Thesoundsofscreaming,andcrashing,andlaughter.
“Please…” Logen tripped, nearly fell. There was something clinging to his
leg. A woman, sitting on the ground beside a wall. Her clothes were dirty,
ragged,herfacewaspale,pinchedwithhunger.Shehadsomethinginherarms.
A bundle of rags. A child. “Please…” Nothing else. The people laughed and
chatteredandsurgedaroundthem,justasiftheyweren’tthere.“Please…”
“Idon’thaveanything,”hemuttered.Nomorethanfivestridesawayamanin
atallhatsatatatableandchuckledwithafriendashetuckedintoasteaming
plateofmeatandvegetables.Logenlookedattheplateoffood,atthestarving
woman.
“Logen!Comeon!”Bayazhadtakenhimbytheelbowandwasdrawinghim
away.
“Butshouldn’twe—”
“Haven’t you noticed? They’re everywhere! The King needs money, so he
squeezes the nobles. The nobles squeeze their tenants, the tenants squeeze the
peasants.Someofthem,theold,theweak,theextrasonsanddaughters,theyget
squeezedrightoutthebottom.Toomanymouthstofeed.Theluckyonesmake
thievesorwhores,therestendupbegging.”
“But—”
“Cleartheroad!”Logenstumbledtothewallandpressedhimselfagainstit,
Malacusand Bayazbesidehim. Thecrowdsparted andalong column ofmen
tramped by, shepherded by armoured guards. Some were young, mere boys,
somewereveryold.Allweredirtyandragged,andfewofthemlookedhealthy.
A couple were clearly lame, hobbling along as best they could. One near the
fronthadonlyonearm.Apasser-byinafabulouscrimsonjacketheldasquare
ofclothoverhiswrinklednoseasthebeggarsshuffledpast.
“Whatarethese?”LogenwhisperedtoBayaz.“Law-breakers?”
TheMaguschuckled.“Soldiers.”
Logen stared at them—filthy, coughing, limping, some without boots.
“Soldiers?These?”
“Ohyes.TheygotofightBethod.”
Logenrubbedathistemples.“Aclanoncesenttheirpoorestwarrior,aman
called Forley the Weakest, to fight me in a duel. They meant it by way of
surrender. Why does this Union send their weakest?” Logen shook his head
grimly.“Theywon’tbeatBethodwithsuchasthese.”
“Theywillsendothers.”Bayazpointedoutanother,smallergathering.“Those
aresoldierstoo.”
“Those?”Agroupoftallyouths,dressedingaudysuitsofredorbrightgreen
cloth,acouplewithoutsizehats.Theywereatleastwearingswords,ofakind,
but they hardly looked like fighting men. Fighting women, maybe. Logen
frowned,staringfromonegrouptotheother.Thedirtybeggars,thegaudylads.
Itwashardforhimtosaywhichwerethestranger.
Atinybelljingledasthedooropened,andLogenfollowedBayazthroughthe
lowarchway,Malacusbehindhim.Theshopwasdimafterthebrightstreetand
ittookLogen’seyesamomenttoadjust.Leaningagainstawallweresheetsof
wood,childishlydaubedwithpicturesofbuildings,forests,mountains.Strange
clothesweredrapedoverstandsbesidethem—flowingrobes,luridgowns,suits
ofarmour,enormoushatsandhelmets,ringsandjewellery,evenaheavycrown.
Weapons occupied a small rack, swords and spears richly decorated. Logen
steppedcloser,frowning.Theywerefakes.Nothingwasreal.Theweaponswere
painted wood, the crown was made of flaking tin, the jewels were coloured
glass.
“Whatisthisplace?”
Bayazwascastinganeyeovertherobesbythewall.“Atheatricaloutfitters.”
“Awhat?”
“Thepeopleofthiscitylovespectacle.Comedy,drama,theatreofallkinds.
Thisshopprovidesequipmentforthemountingofplays.”
“Stories?” Logen poked at a wooden sword. “Some people have too much
timeontheirhands.”
A small, plump man emerged from a door at the back of the shop, looking
Bayaz,MalacusandLogenoversuspiciously.“CanIhelpyou,gentlemen?”
“Of course.” Bayaz stepped forward, switching effortlessly to the common
tongue. “We are mounting a production, and require some costumes. We
understandyouaretheforemosttheatricaloutfitter’sinallofAdua.”
The shopkeeper smiled nervously, taking in their grimy faces and travel
stainedclothes.“True,true,but…er…qualityisexpensive,gentlemen.”
“Moneyisnoobject.”Bayaztookoutabulgingpurseandtosseditabsently
onthecounter.Itsaggedopen,heavygoldencoinsscatteringacrossthewood.
Theshopkeeper’seyeslitwithaninnerfire.“Ofcourse!Whatpreciselydid
youhaveinmind?”
“Ineedamagnificentrobe,suitableforaMagus,oragreatsorcerer,orsome
such. Something of the arcane about it, certainly. Then we’ll have something
similar, if less impressive, for an apprentice. Finally we need something for a
mightywarrior,aprinceofthedistantNorth.Somethingwithfur,Iimagine.”
“Thoseshouldbestraightforward.Iwillseewhatwehave.”Theshopkeeper
disappearedthroughthedoorbehindthecounter.
“Whatisallthisshit?”askedLogen.
The wizard grinned. “People are born to their station here. They have
commoners,tofight,andfarmtheland,anddothework.Theyhavegentry,to
trade, and build and do the thinking. They have nobility, to own the land and
push the others around. They have royalty…” Bayaz glanced at the tin crown
“…I forget exactly why. In the North you can rise as high as your merits will
takeyou.Onlylookatourmutualfriend,Bethod.Notsohere.Amanisbornin
hisplaceandisexpectedtostaythere.Wemustseemtobefromahighplace
indeed,ifwearetobetakenseriously.Dressedaswearewewouldn’tgetpast
thegatesoftheAgriont.”
The shopkeeper interrupted him by reappearing through the door, his arms
heapedwithbrightcloth.“Onemysticalrobe,suitableforthemostpowerfulof
wizards!UsedlastyearforaJuvensinaproductionofTheEndoftheEmpire,
duringthespringfestival.Itis,ifImaysayso,someofmybestwork.”Bayaz
heldtheshimmeringswatheof crimson cloth up to the faint light, gazing at it
admiringly.Arcanediagrams,mysticallettering,andsymbolsofsun,moonand
stars,glitteredinsilverthread.
Malacusranahandovertheshiningclothofhisownabsurdgarment.“Idon’t
think you’d have laughed me off so quickly, eh, Logen, if I’d arrived at your
campfiredressedinthis?”
Logenwinced.“IreckonImight’ve.”
“And here we have a splendid piece of barbarian garb.” The shopkeeper
hefted a black leather tunic onto the counter, set with swirls of shiny brass,
trimmedwithpointlesstissuesofdelicatechain-mail.Hepointedatthematching
fur cloak. “This is real sable!” It was a ludicrous piece of clothing, equally
uselessforwarmthorprotection.
Logen folded his arms across his old coat. “You think I’m going to wear
that?”
The shopkeeper swallowed nervously. “You must forgive my friend,” said
Bayaz. “He is an actor after the new fashion. He believes in losing himself
entirelyinhisrole.”
“Is that so?” squeaked the man, looking Logen up and down. “Northmen
are…Isuppose…topical.”
“Absolutely. I do declare, Master Ninefingers is the very best at what he
does.”TheoldwizardnudgedLogenintheribs.“Theverybest.Ihaveseenit.”
“Ifyousayso.”Theshopkeeperlookedfarfromconvinced.“MightIenquire
whatyouwillbestaging?”
“Oh,it’sanewpiece.”Bayaztappedthesideofhisbaldheadwithafinger.“I
amstillworkingonthedetails.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. More a scene than an entire play.” He glanced back at the robe,
admiringthe waythelight glitteredonthe arcanesymbols.“Ascene inwhich
Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi,finallytakesuphisseatontheClosedCouncil.”
“Ah,” the shopkeeper nodded knowingly. “A political piece. A biting satire,
perhaps?Willitbecomic,ordramaticintone?”
BayazglancedsidelongatLogen.“Thatremainstobeseen.”
BarbariansattheGate
Jezal flashed along the lane beside the moat, feet pounding on the worn
cobblestones, the great white wall sliding endlessly by on his right, one tower
afteranother,ashemadehisdailycircuitoftheAgriont.Sincehehadcutdown
on the drinking the improvement in his stamina had been impressive. He was
scarcelyevenoutofbreath.Itwasearlyandthestreetsofthecitywerenearly
empty.Theoddpersonwouldlookupathimasheranby,maybeevencallout
somewordofencouragement,butJezalbarelynoticedthem.Hiseyeswerefixed
onthesparkling,lappingwaterinthemoat,andhismindwaselsewhere.
Ardee. Where else was it ever? He had supposed, after that day when West
had warned him off, after he had stopped seeing her, that his thoughts would
soon return to other matters, and other women. He had applied himself to his
fencingwithawill,attemptedtoshowaninterestinhisdutiesasanofficer,but
hefoundhimselfunabletoconcentrate,andotherwomenseemednowpale,flat,
tediouscreatures.Thelongruns,themonotonousexerciseswithbarandbeam,
gavehismindampleopportunitytowander.Thetediumofpeacetimesoldiering
wasevenworse:readingboringpapers,standingguardonthingsthatneededno
guarding.Hisattentionwouldinevitablyslip,andthenshewouldbethere.
Ardeeinwholesomepeasantgarb,flushedandsweatyfromhardworkinthe
fields.Ardeeinthefineryofaprincess,glitteringwithjewels.Ardeebathingin
forest pools, while he watched from the bushes. Ardee proper and demure,
glancingshylyupathimfrombeneathherlashes.Ardeeawhorebythedocks,
beckoningtohimfromagrimydoorway.Thefantasieswereinfiniteinvariety,
buttheyallendedthesameway.
Hishour-longcircuitoftheAgriontwascompleteandhethumpedacrossthe
bridgeandbackinthroughthesouthgate.
Jezaltreatedtheguardstotheirdailyshareofindifference,trottedthroughthe
tunnelandupthelongrampintothefortress,thenturnedtowardsthecourtyard
where Marshal Varuz would be waiting. All the while, Ardee was rubbing up
againstthebackofhismind.
Itwashardlyasthoughhehadnothingelsetothinkabout.TheContestwas
close now, very close. Soon he would fight before the cheering crowds, his
family and friends among them. It might make his reputation… or sink it. He
shouldhavebeenlyingawakeatnight,tenseandsweating,worryingendlessly
about forms, and training, and steels. And yet somehow that wasn’t what he
thoughtaboutinbed.
Thentherewasawaron.Itwaseasytoforget,hereinthesunnylanesofthe
Agriont,that Angland hadbeeninvaded by hordesofslavering barbarians. He
wouldbegoingnorthsoon,toleadhiscompanyinbattle.There,surely,wasa
thoughtto keepaman occupied.Was notwara deadlybusiness? He couldbe
hurt,orscarred,orkilledeven.Jezaltriedtoconjureupthetwisting,twitching,
painted face of Fenris the Feared. Legions of screaming savages descending
upontheAgriont.Itwasaterriblebusinessalright,adangerousandfrightening
business.
Hmmm.
ArdeecamefromAngland.Whatif,say,sheweretofallintothehandsofthe
Northmen? Jezal would rush to her rescue, of course. She would not be hurt.
Well,notbadly.Perhapsherclothesalittletorn,likeso?Nodoubtshewouldbe
frightened,grateful.Hewouldbeobligedtocomforther,ofcourse.Shemight
evenfaint?Hemighthavetocarryher,herheadpressedagainsthisshoulder.He
mighthavetolayherdownandloosenherclothes.Theirlipsmighttouch,just
brushgently,hersmightpartalittle,then…
Jezal stumbled in the road. There was a pleasant swelling building in his
crotch. Pleasant, but hardly compatible with a brisk run. He was nearly at the
courtyard now, and this would never do at fencing practice. He glanced
desperately around for a distraction, and nearly choked on his tongue. Major
Westwasstandingbythewall,dressedtofenceandwatchinghimapproachwith
anunusuallygrimexpression.Foraninstant,Jezalwonderedifhisfriendmight
beabletotellwhathehadbeenthinking.Heswallowedguiltily,felttheblood
rushingtohisface.Westcouldn’tknow,hecouldn’t.Buthewasmostunhappy
aboutsomething.
“Luthar,”hegrunted.
“West.”Jezalstareddownathisshoes.Theyhadnotbeengettingontoowell
sinceWestjoinedLordMarshalBurr’sstaff.Jezaltriedtobehappyforhim,but
could not escape the feeling that he was better qualified for the post. He had
excellent blood after all, whether he had experience in the field or not. Then
Ardee was still lurking between them, that unpleasant and needless warning.
EveryoneknewthatWesthadbeenfirstthroughthebreachatUlrioch.Everyone
knew that he had the devil of a temper. That had always seemed exciting to
Jezal,untilhegotonthewrongendofit.
“Varuz is waiting.” West unfolded his arms and strode off towards the
archway,“andhe’snotalone.”
“Notalone?”
“TheMarshalfeelsyouneedtogetusedtoanaudience.”
Jezalfrowned.“I’msurprisedanyonecaresinthepresentclimate,whatwith
thewarandall.”
“You’d be surprised. Fighting and fencing and all things martial are very
muchtheflavour.Everyone’swearingaswordthesedays,evenifthey’venever
drawn one in their lives. There’s an absolute fever about the Contest, believe
me.”
Jezalblinked as theypassedinto thebrightcourtyard. Astandoftemporary
seating had been hastily erected along one wall, packed from one end to the
otherwithpeople,threescoreormore.
“And here he is!” shouted Marshal Varuz. There was a ripple of polite
applause.Jezalfelthimselfgrinning—thereweresomeveryimportantpeoplein
amongstthecrowd.HespottedMarovia,theLordHighJustice,strokinghislong
beard. Lord Isher was not far away from him, looking slightly bored. Crown
Prince Ladisla himself was lounging on the front row, shining in a shirt of
gossamer chain-mail and clapping enthusiastically. The people on the benches
behindhadtoleanovertoseeroundthewavingplumeonhismagnificenthat.
VaruzhandedJezalhissteels,stillbeaming.“Don’tyoudaremakemelooka
fool!”he hissed. Jezalcoughednervously, lookingupat the rowsofexpectant
people.Hisheartsank.InquisitorGlokta’stoothlessgrinleeredathimfromthe
crowd, and on the row behind him… Ardee West. She was wearing an
expression that she never had in his daydreams: one third sullen, one third
accusing,onethirdsimplybored.Heglancedaway,staringtowardtheopposite
wall,inwardlycursinghisowncowardice.Heseemedunabletomeetanyone’s
eyethesedays.
“This bout will be fought with half-edged steels!” thundered the Lord
Marshal. “The best of three touches!” West already had his swords drawn and
wasmakinghiswaytothecircle,markedoutwithwhitechalkinthecarefully
shavedgrass.Jezal’sheartwashammeringloudashefumbledhisownsteelsout
of their sheaths, acutely aware of all those eyes upon him. He took his mark
oppositeWest,pushinghisfeetcautiouslyintothegrass.Westraisedhissteels,
Jezaldidthesame.Theyfacedeachotherforamoment,motionless.
“Begin!”shoutedVaruz.
ItquicklybecameclearthatWesthadnomindtorolloverforhim.Hecame
onwithmorethanhisusualferocity,harryingJezalwithaflurryofheavycuts,
their steels clashing and scraping rapidly together. He gave ground, still
uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of all those people, damned important
people some of them, but as West pushed him back towards the edge of the
circle,hisnervesbegantofade,histrainingtookover.Heduckedaway,making
roomforhimself,parryingthecutswithleftandright,dodginganddancing,too
fasttocatch.
The people faded, even Ardee was gone. The blades moved by themselves,
back and forth, up and down. There was no need for him to look at them. He
turnedhisattentiontoWestseyes,watchedthemflickerfromthegroundtothe
steelstoJezal’sdancingfeet,tryingtoguesshisintentions.
Hefeltthelungecomingevenbeforeitwasbegun.Hefeintedonewaythen
turnedtheother,slippingsmoothlyroundbehindWest asheblunderedpast.It
was a simple matter for him to apply his foot to the seat of his opponent’s
trousersandshovehimoutofthecircle.
“Atouch!”shoutedMarshalVaruz.
TherewasarippleoflaughterastheMajorsprawledonhisface.“Atouchon
the arse!” guffawed the Crown Prince, his plume waving back and forth with
merriment.“OnetoCaptainLuthar!”Westdidn’tlookhalfsointimidatingwith
his face in the dirt. Jezal gave a little bow to the audience, risked a smile in
Ardee’sdirectionasherose.Hewasdisappointedtoseeshewasn’tevenlooking
athim.Shewaswatchingherbrotherstruggleinthedustwithafaint,cruelgrin.
Westgotslowlytohisfeet.“Agoodtouch,”hemutteredthroughgrittedteeth
as he stepped back into the circle. Jezal took his own mark, barely able to
suppresshissmile.
“Begin!”shoutedVaruz.
West came on strongly again, but Jezal was warming to his task now. The
soundsoftheaudiencemutteredandswelledashedancedthiswayandthat.He
began to work the odd flourish into his movements, and the onlookers
responded,“oohs”and“aahs”floatingupasheflickedWest’seffortsaway.He
had never fenced so well, never moved so smoothly. The bigger man was
starting to tire a little, the snap was going out of his cuts. Their long steels
clashedtogether,scraped.JezaltwistedhisrightwristandtoreWest’sbladefrom
hisfingers,steppedinandslashedathimwithhisleft.
“Gah!”Westwincedanddroppedhisshortsteel,hoppingawayandgrabbing
hisforearm.Afewdropsofbloodpatteredacrosstheground.
“Twotonothing!”shoutedVaruz.
TheCrownPrincejumpedup,hishattumblingoff,delightedbythesightof
blood. “Excellent!” he squawked, “capital!” Others joined him on their feet,
clapping loudly. Jezal basked in their approval, smiling wide, every muscle
tinglingwithhappiness.Heunderstoodnowwhathehadbeentrainingfor.
“Well fought, Jezal,” muttered West, a trickle of blood running down his
forearm.“You’vegottoogoodforme.”
“Sorryaboutthecut.”Jezalgrinned.Hewasn’tsorryintheleast.
“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.” West strode away, frowning and holding his
wrist.Nobodypaidmuchattentiontohisexit,Jezalleastofall.Sportingevents
areallaboutthewinners.
Lord Marovia was the first to get up from the benches and offer his
congratulations. “What a promising young man,” he said, smiling warmly at
Jezal,“butdoyouthinkhecanbeatBremerdanGorst?”
VaruzgaveJezalafatherlyclapontheshoulder.“I’msurehecanbeatanyone,
ontherightday”
“Hmm.HaveyouseenGorstfence?”
“No,thoughIhearheismostimpressive.”
“Oh,indeed—heisadevil.”TheHighJusticeraisedhisbushyeyebrows.“I
lookforwardtoseeingthemmeet.Haveyoueverconsideredacareerinthelaw,
CaptainLuthar?”
Jezalwastakenbysurprise.“Er,no,yourWorship,thatis…Iamasoldier.”
“Ofcourseyouare.Butbattlesandsoforthcanplayhellwiththenerves.If
youshouldeverchangeyourmind,perhapsImighthaveaplaceforyou.Ican
alwaysfindauseforpromisingmen.”
“Er,thankyou.”
“UntiltheContestthen.Goodluck,Captain,”hethrewoverhisshoulderashe
shuffledaway.TheimplicationwasthathethoughtJezalwouldneedagreatdeal
ofit.HisHighnessPrinceLadislawasmoreoptimistic.
“You’re my man, Luthar!” he shouted, poking the air with his fingers as
thoughtheywerefencingsteels.“I’mgoingtodoublemybetonyou!”
Jezalbowedobsequiously.“YourHighnessistookind.”
“You’remyman!Asoldier!Afencingmanshouldfightforhiscountry,eh,
Varuz?Whyisn’tthisGorstasoldier?”
“I believe he is, your Highness,” said the Lord Marshal gently. “He is a
kinsmanofLordBrock,andserveswithhispersonalguard.”
“Oh.”ThePrinceseemedconfusedfor amoment, butsoon perkedup. “But
you’re my man!” he shouted at Jezal, poking once more with his fingers, the
featheronhishatwavingthiswayandthat.“You’rethemanforme!”Hedanced
offtowardsthearchway,decorativechain-mailgleaming.
“Veryimpressive.”Jezalwhippedround,tookanungainlystepback.Glokta,
leering at him from his blind side. For a cripple, he had an uncanny knack of
sneakinguponaman.“Whatahappychanceforeveryonethatyoudidn’tgiveit
upafterall.”
“Ineverhadanyintentionofdoingso,”snappedJezalfrostily.
Gloktasuckedathisgums.“Ifyousayso,Captain.”
“Ido.”Jezalturnedrudelyaway,hopingthatheneverhadoccasiontospeak
totheloathsomemanagain.HefoundhimselfstaringstraightintoArdee’sface,
nomorethanafootaway.
“Gah,”hestammered,steppingbackagain.
“Jezal,”shesaid,“Ihaven’tseenyouinawhile.”
“Er…”Heglancednervouslyaround.Gloktawasshamblingaway.Westwas
long gone. Varuz was busy holding forth to Lord Isher and a few others still
remaininginthecourtyard.Theywereunobserved.Hehadtospeaktoher.He
oughttotellherstraightoutthathecouldnotseeheranymore.Heowedherthat
much.“Er…”
“Nothingtosaytome?”
“Er…”Heturnedswiftlyonhisheelandwalkedaway,hisshouldersprickling
withshame.
Thetediumofguarddutyatthesouthgateseemed,afterallthatunexpected
excitement,almostamercy.Jezalwasquitelookingforwardtostandingidlyby,
watchingpeoplefileinandout ofthe Agriont,listening toLieutenantKaspa’s
mindlessbabble.Atleast,hewasuntilhegotthere.
Kaspaandtheusualcomplementofarmouredsoldierswereclusteredaround
the outer gates, where the old bridge across the moat passed between the two
massive,whiterenderedtowersofthegatehouse.AsJezalmarcheddowntothe
end of the long tunnel he saw that there was someone with them. A small,
harassed-looking fellow wearing spectacles. Jezal recognised him vaguely.
Morrowhewascalled,somecronyoftheLordChamberlain.Hehadnoreason
tobehere.
“Captain Luthar, what a happy chance!” Jezal jumped. It was that lunatic,
Sulfur,sittingcross-leggedonthegroundbehindhim,hisbackagainstthesheer
wallofthegatehouse.
“Whatthehell’shedoing here?”snapped Jezal.Kaspa openedhis mouthto
speak,butSulfurgotinfirst.
“Don’tmindme,Captain,I’msimplywaitingformymaster.”
“Yourmaster?”Hedreadedtothinkwhatmannerofanidiotthisidiotmight
serve.
“Indeed.Heshouldbehereveryshortly.”Sulfurfrownedupatthesun.“Heis
alreadysomewhattardy,ifthetruthbetold.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” The madman broke into a friendly smile once more. “But he’ll be
along,Jezal,youcandependonit.”
First-nametermswastoomuchtotake.Hehardlyknewtheman,andwhathe
knewhedidn’tlike.Heopenedhismouthtogivehimapieceofhismind,but
Sulfur suddenly jumped up, grabbing his stick from the wall and brushing
himselfdown.
“Here they are!” he said, looking out across the moat. Jezal followed the
idiot’seyeswithhisown.
Amagnificentoldmanwasstridingpurposefullyacrossthebridge,baldhead
heldhigh,afabulousgownofshimmeringredandsilverflowingabouthimin
thebreeze.Athisheelscameasickly-lookingyouth,headalittlebowedasifin
aweoftheolderman,holdingalongstaffoutbeforehiminupturnedpalms.A
greatbruteofamaninaheavyfurcloakfollowedbehindthem,agoodhalfhead
tallerthantheothertwo.
“What the…” Jezal trailed off. He seemed to recognise the old man from
somewhere. Some lord perhaps, from the Open Council? Some foreign
ambassador?Certainlyhehadanairofmajesty.Jezalrackedhisbrainsasthey
approached,butcouldnotplacehim.
Theoldmanstoppedbeforethegatehouse,sweptJezal,Kaspa,Morrowand
theguardsimperiouslywithglitteringgreeneyes.“Yoru,”hesaid.
Sulfur stepped forward, bowing low. “Master Bayaz,” he murmured, in
hushedtonesofdeeprespect.
And that was it. That was why Jezal knew the man. He bore a definite
resemblance to the statue of Bayaz in the Kingsway. The statue Jezal had run
past so many times. A little fatter perhaps, but that expression: stern, wise,
effortlesslycommanding,wasjustthesame.Jezalfrowned.Fortheoldmanto
be called by that name? He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the look of the lanky
young man with the staff either. He liked the look of the old man’s other
companionevenless.
WesthadoftentoldJezalthattheNorthmenfoundinAdua,usuallyskulking
dishevelledbythedocksordirtydrunkingutters,werebynomeanstypicalof
their people. Those that lived free in the far North, fighting, feuding, feasting,
anddoingwhateverNorthmendid,wereofquiteadifferentkind.Atall,fierce,
handsome people, Jezal had always imagined, with a touch of romance about
them. Strong, yet graceful. Wild, yet noble. Savage, yet cunning. The kind of
menwhoseeyesarefixedalwaysonthefarhorizon.
Thiswasnotoneofthose.
NeverinhislifehadJezalseenamorebrutish-lookingman.EvenFenristhe
Fearedhadseemedcivilisedbycomparison.Hisfacewaslikeawhippedback,
criss-crossedwithraggedscars.
Hisnosewasbent,pointingoffalittlesideways.Oneearhadabignotchout
ofit,one eye seemed atouchhigher than the other,surroundedby a crescent-
shaped wound. His whole face, in fact, was slightly beaten, broken, lop-sided,
likethatofaprizefighterwhohasfoughtafewboutstoomany.Hisexpression
too, was that of one punch-drunk. He gawped up at the gatehouse, forehead
furrowed, mouth hanging open, staring about him with a look of near animal
stupidity.
Heworealongfurcloak,andaleathertunicsetwithgold,butthisheightof
barbaricsplendouronlymadehimlookmoresavage,andtherewasnomissing
the long, heavy sword at his belt. The Northman scratched at a big pink scar
throughthestubbleonhischeekashepeeredupatthesheerwallsabove,and
Jezalnoticedoneofhisfingerswasmissing.Asthoughanyfurtherevidenceofa
lifeofviolenceandsavagerywasnecessary.
ToletthishulkingprimitiveintotheAgriont?Whiletheywereatwarwiththe
Northmen?Itwasunthinkable!ButMorrowwasalreadysidlingforward.“The
Lord Chamberlain is expecting you, gentlemen,” he gushed as he bowed and
scrapedhiswaytowardstheoldman,“ifyouwouldcaretofollowme—”
“One moment.” Jezal grabbed the under-secretary by the elbow and pulled
himaside.“Himtoo?”heaskedincredulously,noddingoverattheprimitivein
thecloak.“Weareatwar,youknow!”
“Lord Hoff was most specific!” Morrow shook his arm free, spectacles
flashing. “Keep him here if you wish, but you can explain it to the Lord
Chamberlain!”
Jezalswallowed.Thatideawasnotatallappealing.Heglancedupattheold
man,butcouldnotlookhimintheeyeforlong.Hehadamysteriousair,anair
ofknowingsomethingnooneelsecouldguess,anditwasmostunsettling.
“You… must… leave… your… weapons… here!” he shouted, speaking as
slowlyandclearlyaspossible.
“Happyto.”TheNorthmanpulledtheswordfromhisbeltandhelditout.It
weighed heavily in Jezal’s hands: a big, plain, brutal-looking weapon. He
followeditwithalongknife, then knelt and pulled another from his boot. He
took a third from the small of his back, and then produced a thin blade from
inside his sleeve, heaping them into Jezal’s outstretched arms. The Northman
smiled broadly. It was truly a hideous sight, the ragged scars twisting and
puckering,makinghisfacemorelopsidedthanever.
“Youcanneverhavetoomanyknives,”hegrowledinadeep,grindingvoice.
Nobodylaughed,buthedidnotseemtocare.
“Shallwego?”askedtheoldman.
“Withoutdelay,”saidMorrow,turningtoleave.
“I’ll come with you.” Jezal dumped his armload of weapons into Kaspa’s
hands.
“Thatreallyisn’tnecessary,Captain,”whinedMorrow.
“I insist.” Once he was delivered to the Lord Chamberlain, the Northman
could murder whomever he pleased: it would be someone else’s problem. But
untilhegotthereJezalmightbeblamedforwhatevermischiefhegotupto,and
hewasdamnedifhewasgoingtoletthathappen.
The guards stood aside, the strange procession passed through the gate.
Morrowwasfirst,whisperingobsequiousnothingsoverhisshouldertotheold
man in the splendid robe. The pale youth was next, followed by Sulfur. The
nine-fingeredNorthmanlumberedalongattheback.
Jezalfollowedwithhisthumbinhisbelt,closetothehiltofhisswordsohe
couldgettoitquickly,watchingthesavageintentlyforanysuddenmoves.After
following him for a short while though, Jezal had to admit, the man gave no
appearanceofhavingmurderinmind.Ifanythinghelookedcurious,bemused,
andsomewhatembarrassed.Hekeptslowing,staringupatthebuildingsaround
him,shakinghishead,scratchinghisface,mutteringunderhisbreath.Hewould
occasionallyhorrifypassers-bybysmilingatthem,butheseemedtopresentno
greaterthreatandJezalbegantorelax,atleastuntiltheyreachedtheSquareof
Marshals.
The Northman stopped suddenly. Jezal fumbled for his sword, but the
primitive’s eyes were locked ahead, gazing at a fountain nearby. He moved
slowlytowardsit,thencautiouslyraisedathickfingerandpokedattheglittering
jet.Watersplashedintohisfaceandheblunderedaway,almostknockingJezal
down.“Aspring?”hewhispered.“Buthow?”
Mercy.Themanwaslikeachild.Asixandahalffootchildwithafacelikea
butcher’s block. “There are pipes!” Jezal stamped on the paving. “Beneath…
the…ground!”
“Pipes,”echoedtheprimitivequietly,staringatthefrothingwater.
Theothershadmovedsomewayahead,closetothegrandbuildinginwhich
Hoffhadhisoffices.Jezalbegantostepawayfromthefountain,hopingtodraw
thewitlesssavagewithhim.ToJezal’sreliefhefollowed,shakinghisheadand
muttering“pipes”tohimself,overandover.
Theyentered thecool darknessof theLordChamberlain’sante-room.There
were people seated on the benches around the walls, some of them giving the
impressionofhavingbeenwaitingaverylongtime.TheyallstaredasMorrow
usheredthepeculiargroupstraightintoHoffsoffices.Thespectacledsecretary
openedtheheavydoubledoorsandstoodbywhilefirsttheoldbaldman,then
hiscronywiththestick,thenthemadmanSulfur,andfinallythenine-fingered
primitivewalkedinpasthim.
Jezalmadetofollowthem,butMorrowstoodinthedoorwayandblockedhis
path. “Thank you so much for your help, Captain,” he said with a thin smile.
“You may return to the gate.” Jezal peered over his shoulder into the room
beyond. He saw the Lord Chamberlain frowning behind a long table. Arch
Lector Sult was beside him, grim and suspicious. High Justice Marovia was
theretoo,asmileonhiswrinkledface.ThreemembersoftheClosedCouncil.
ThenMorrowshutthedoorinhisface.
Next
“Inoticeyouhaveanewsecretary,”saidGlokta,asthoughjustinpassing.
The Arch Lector smiled. “Of course. The old one was not to my liking. He
had a loose tongue, you know.” Glokta paused, his wine glass halfway to his
mouth. “He had been passing our secrets on to the Mercers,” continued Sult
carelessly, as if it was common knowledge. “I had been aware of it for some
time.Youneedn’tworrythough,heneverlearnedanythingIdidn’twanthimto
know.”
Then… you knew who our traitor was. You knew all along. Glokta’s mind
turnedtheeventsofthelastfewweeksaround,pulledthemapartandputthem
backtogetherinthisnewlight,tryingthemdifferentwaysuntiltheyfit,allthe
while struggling to conceal his surprise. You left Rews confession where you
knewyoursecretarywouldseeit.YouknewtheMercerswouldfindoutwhowas
onthelist,andyouguessedwhattheywoulddo,knowingitwouldonlyplayinto
your hands and give you the shovel with which to bury them. Meanwhile, you
steered my suspicions towards Kalyne when you knew who the leak was all
along.Thewholebusinessunfoldedpreciselyaccordingtoyourplan.TheArch
Lectorwaslookingbackathimwithaknowingsmile.AndIbetyouguesswhat
I’mthinkingrightnow.Ihavebeenalmostasmuchapieceinthisgameasthat
snivellingwormofasecretary.Gloktastifledagiggle.Howfortunateformethat
Iwasapieceontherightside.Ineversuspectedathing.
“Hebetrayedusfor adisappointingly smallsum ofmoney,”continuedSult,
hislipcurlingwithdistaste.“IdaresayKaultwouldhavegivenhimtentimesas
much,ifhehadonlyhadthewittoask.Theyoungergenerationreallyhaveno
ambition. They think they are a great deal cleverer than they are.” He studied
Glokta with his cool blue eyes. I am part of the younger generation, more or
less.Iamjustlyhumbled.
“Yoursecretaryhasbeendisciplined?”
The Arch Lector placed his glass carefully down on the table top, the base
barely making a sound on the wood. “Oh yes. Most severely. It really isn’t
necessarytosparehimanyfurtherthought.”Ibetitisn’t.Bodyfoundfloatingby
the docks… “I must say, I was greatly surprised when you fixed on Superior
Kalyne as the source of our leak. The man was from the old guard. A few
indulgencestolooktheotherwayovertriflingmatters,ofcourse,buttobetray
theInquisition?To sell our secrets totheMercers?”Sult snorted. “Never.You
allowedyourpersonaldislikeforthemantocloudyourjudgement.”
“Heseemedtheonlypossibility,”mutteredGlokta,butimmediatelyregretted
it.Foolish,foolish.Themistakeismade.Betterjusttokeepyourmouthshut.
“Seemed?”TheArchLectorclickedhistongueinprofounddisapproval.“No,
no,no,Inquisitor.Seemedisnotgoodenoughforus.Infuture,we’llhavejust
the facts, if you please. But don’t feel too badly about it—I allowed you to
follow your instincts and, as things have turned out, your blunder has left our
positionmuchthestronger.Kalynehasbeenremovedfromoffice,”Bodyfound
floating…“andSuperiorGoyleisonhiswayfromAnglandtoassumetheroleof
SuperiorofAdua.”
Goyle?Cominghere?Thatbastard,thenewSuperiorofAdua?Gloktacould
notpreventhislipfromcurling.
“Thetwoofyouarenotthegreatestoffriends,eh,Glokta?”
“Heisajailer,notaninvestigator.Heisnotinterestedinguiltorinnocence.
Heisnotinterestedintruth.Hetorturesforthethrillofit.”
“Oh, come now, Glokta. Are you telling me you feel no thrill when your
prisoners spill their secrets? When they name the names? When they sign the
confession?”
“Itakenopleasureinit.”Itakenopleasureinanything.
“Andyetyoudoitsoverywell.Inanycase,Goyleiscoming,andwhatever
you may think of him, he is one of us. A most capable and trustworthy man,
dedicatedtotheserviceofcrownandstate.Hewasoncea pupilofmine, you
know.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He had your job… so there is some future in it after all!” The Arch
Lectorgiggledathisownjoke.Gloktagaveathinsmileofhisown.“Allinall,
thingshaveworkedoutverynicely,andyouaretobecongratulatedonyourpart
init.Ajobwelldone.”WellenoughdonethatIamstillalive,atleast.Sultraised
hisglassandtheydrankajoylesstoasttogether,eyeingeachothersuspiciously
overtherimsoftheirglasses.
Glokta cleared his throat. “Magister Kault mentioned something interesting
beforehisunfortunatedemise.”
“Goon.”
“The Mercers had a partner in their schemes. A senior partner, perhaps. A
bank.”
“Huh.Turnamerchantoverandthere’salwaysabankerunderneath.Whatof
it?”
“I believe these bankers knew about it all. The smuggling, the fraud, the
murderseven.Ibelievetheyencouragedit,maybeorderedit,sothattheycould
getagoodreturnontheirloans.MayIbeginaninvestigation,yourEminence?”
“Whichbank?”
“ValintandBalk.”
TheArchLectorseemedtoconsideramoment,staringatGloktathroughhis
hard,blueeyes.Doeshealreadyknowabouttheseparticularbankers?Doeshe
already know much more than me? What did Kault say? You want traitors,
Glokta?LookintheHouseofQuestions—
“No,” snapped Sult. “Those particular bankers are well connected. They are
owedtoomanyfavours,andwithoutKaultitwillbedifficulttoproveanything.
WegotwhatweneededfromtheMercers,andIhaveamorepressingtaskfor
you.”
Gloktalookedup.Anothertask?“Iwaslookingforwardtointerviewingthe
prisonerswetookattheGuildhall,yourEminence,itmaybethat—”
“No.” The Arch Lector swatted Glokta’s words away with his gloved hand.
“That business could drag on for months. I will have Goyle handle it.” He
frowned.“Unlessyouobject?”
So I plough the field, sow the seed, water the crop, then Goyle reaps the
harvest? Some justice. He humbly bowed his head. “Of course not, your
Eminence.”
“Good. You are probably aware of the unusual visitors we received
yesterday.”
Visitors?ForthepastweekGloktahadbeeninagonywithhisback.Yesterday
hehadstruggledoutofbedtowatchthatcretinLutharfence,butotherwisehe
hadbeenconfinedtohistinyroom,virtuallyunabletomove.“Ihadn’tnoticed,”
hesaidsimply.
“Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi.”Gloktagavehisthinsmileagain,buttheArch
Lectorwasnotlaughing.
“You’rejoking,ofcourse.”
“Ifonly.”
“Acharlatan,yourEminence?”
“What else? But a most extraordinary one. Lucid, reasonable, clever. The
deceptioniselaborateintheextreme.”
“Youhavespokenwithhim?”
“Ihave.He isremarkablyconvincing.Heknowsthings,thingsheshouldn’t
know.Hecannotbesimplydismissed.Whoeverheis,hehasfunding,andgood
sourcesofinformation.”TheArchLectorfrowneddeep.“Hehassomerenegade
bruteofaNorthmanwithhim.”
Gloktafrowned.“ANorthman?Ithardlyseemstheirstyle.Theystrikemeas
mostdirect.”
“Myverythoughts.”
“AspyfortheEmperorthen?TheGurkish?”
“Perhaps. The Kantics love a good intrigue, but they tend to stick to the
shadows.Thesetheatricalsdon’tseemtohavetheirmark.Isuspectouranswer
maylieclosertohome.”
“Thenobles,yourEminence?Brock?Isher?Heugen?”
“Perhaps,”musedSult,“perhaps.They’reannoyedenough.Orthere’sourold
friend,theHighJustice.Heseemedalittletoopleasedaboutitall.He’splotting
something,Icantell.”
Thenobles,theHighJustice,theNorthmen,theGurkish—itcouldbeanyone
ofthem,ornone—butwhy?“Idon’tunderstand,ArchLector.Iftheyaresimply
spies, why go to all this trouble? Surely there are easier ways to get into the
Agriont?”
“This is the thing.” Sult gave as bitter a grimace as Glokta had ever seen.
“There is an empty seat on the Closed Council, there always has been. A
pointlesstradition,amatterofetiquette,achairreservedforamythicalfigure,in
anycasedeadforhundredsofyears.Nobodyeversupposedthatanyonewould
comeforwardtoclaimit.”
“Buthehas?”
“He has! He has demanded it!” The Arch Lector got to his feet and strode
aroundthetable.“Iknow!Unthinkable!Somespy,someliarfromwhoknows
where, privy to the workings of the very heart of our government! But he has
somedustypapers,soitfallstoustodiscredithim!Canyoubelieveit?”
Gloktacouldnot.Buttherehardlyseemsanypurposetosayingso.
“Ihaveaskedfortimetoinvestigate,”continuedSult,“buttheClosedCouncil
willnotbeputoffindefinitely.Wehaveonlyaweekortwotoexposethisso-
calledMagusforthefraudheis.Inthemeantime,heandhiscompanionsare
making themselves at home in an excellent suite of rooms in the Tower of
Chains,andthereisnothingwecandotopreventthemwanderingtheAgriont,
causingwhatevermischieftheyplease!”Thereissomethingwecoulddo…
“TheTowerofChainsisveryhigh.Ifsomebodyweretofall—”
“No.Notyet.Wehavealreadypushedourluckasfarasitwillgoincertain
circles.Forthetimebeingatleast,wemusttreadcarefully.”
“Thereisalwaysthepossibilityofaninterrogation.Ifweweretoarrestthem,
Icouldsoonfindoutwhotheyareworkingfor—”
“Treadcarefully,Isaid!IwantyoutolookintothisMagus,Glokta,andhis
companions.Findoutwhotheyare,wheretheycomefrom,whattheyareafter.
Aboveall,findoutwhoisbehindthem,andwhy.Wemustdiscreditthiswould-
beBayazbeforehecandoanydamage.Afterthatyoucanusewhatevermeans
youplease.”Sultturnedandmovedawaytothewindow.
Gloktagotupawkwardly,painfullyfromhischair.“HowshallIbegin?”
“Followthem!”shoutedtheArchLectorimpatiently.“Watchthem!Seewho
theyspeakto,whattheyareabout.You’retheInquisitor,Glokta!”hesnapped,
withoutevenlookinground.“Asksomequestions!”
BetterthanDeath
“We’re looking for a woman,” said the officer, staring at them suspiciously.
“Anescapedslave,akiller.Verydangerous.”
“A woman, master?” asked Yulwei, his brow wrinkled with confusion.
“Dangerous,master?”
“Yes,awoman!”Theofficerwavedhis handimpatiently.“Tall,with ascar,
haircroppedshort.Well-armed,mostlikely,withabow.”Ferrostoodthere,tall
andscarred,haircroppedshort,bowoverhershoulder,andlookeddownatthe
dusty ground. “She is wanted, by the highest of authorities! A thief and a
murderer,manytimesover!”
Yulwei gave a humble smile and spread his hands. “We have seen no such
personmaster.Iandmysonareunarmed,asyoucansee.”Ferrolookeddown
uncomfortablyatthecurvedbladeoftheswordstuckthroughherbelt,shiningin
thebrightsun.Theofficerdidn’tseemtonoticethough.Heswattedataflyas
Yulwei blathered on. “Neither one of us would know what to do with such a
thingasabow,Icanassureyou.WetrustinGodtoprotectus,master,andinthe
Emperor’smatchlesssoldiers.”
Theofficersnorted.“Verywise,oldman.What’syourbusinesshere?”
“Iamamerchant,onmywaytoDagoska,topurchasespices,”andhegavea
grovellingbow,“withyourkindpermission.”
“Tradingwiththepinksareyou?DamnUnion!”Theofficerspatinthedust.
“Still,amanhastomakealiving,Isuppose,ifashamefulone.Tradewhileyou
can,thepinkswillbegonesoon,sweptbackintotheocean!”Hepuffedouthis
chestwithpride.“The Emperor, Uthman-ul-Dosht, has sworn it! What doyou
thinkofthat,oldman?”
“Oh,itwillbeagreatday,agreatday,”saidYulwei,bowinglowagain,“may
Godbringittoussoon,master!”
TheofficerlookedFerroupanddown.“Yoursonlooksastronglad.Perhaps
he’dmakeasoldier.”Hetookasteptowardsherandgrabbedholdofherbare
arm.“That’sastrongarm.Thatarmcoulddrawabow,I’dsay,ifitweretaught.
Whatdoyou say,boy?Aman’swork, fightingforthegloryofGod, andyour
Emperor!Betterthangrubbingforapittance!”Ferro’sfleshcrawledwherehis
fingerstouchedherskin.Herotherhandcrepttowardsherknife.
“Alas,” said Yulwei quickly, “my son was born… simple. He scarcely
speaks.”
“Ah.Ashame.Thetimemaycomewhenweneedeveryman.Savagesthey
maybe,butthesepinkscanfight.”TheofficerturnedawayandFerroscowled
afterhim.“Verywell,youmaygo!”Hewavedthemon.Theeyesofhissoldiers,
lounging in the shade of the palms around the road, followed them as they
walkedpast,butwithoutmuchinterest.
Ferro held her tongue until the encampment had dwindled into the distance
behindthem,thensheroundedonYulwei.“Dagoska?”
“Tobeginwith,”saidtheoldman,staringoffacrossthescrubbyplain.“And
thennorth.”
“North?”
“AcrosstheCircleSeatoAdua.”
Acrossthesea?Shestoppedintheroad.“I’mnotfuckinggoingthere!”
“Must you make everything so difficult, Ferro? Are you that happy here in
Gurkhul?”
“These northerners are mad, everyone knows it! Pinks, Union, or whatever.
Mad!Godless!”
Yulwei raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t know you were so interested in
God,Ferro.”
“AtleastIknowthereisone!”sheshouted,pointingatthesky.“Thesepinks,
theydon’tthinklikeus,likerealpeople!We’venobusinesswiththeirkind!I’d
ratherstayamongtheGurkish!Besides,I’vescorestosettlehere.”
“Whatscores?GoingtokillUthman?”
Shefrowned.“PerhapsIwill.”
“Huh.”Yulweiturnedandheadedoffuptheroad.“They’relookingforyou,
Ferro,incaseyouhadn’tnoticed.Youwouldn’tgettenstrideswithoutmyhelp.
They’vestillgotthatcagewaiting,remember?Theoneinfrontofthepalace?
Theyareanxioustofillit.”Ferrogroundherteeth.“UthmanistheEmperornow.
Ul-Dosht, they call him. The mighty! The merciless! Greatest Emperor for a
hundredyears, theyare sayingalready.Killthe Emperor!”Yulweichuckledto
himself.“You’requiteacharacteralright.Quiteacharacter.”
Ferroscowledasshefollowedtheoldmanupthehill.Shewasn’tlookingto
be anyone’s character. Yulwei could make these soldiers see whatever he
pleased,andthatwasasmarttrick,butshe’dbedamnedifshewasgoingnorth.
Whatbusinessdidshehavewiththosegodlesspinks?
Yulwei was still chuckling away as she drew level with him. “Kill the
Emperor.”Heshookhishead.“He’lljusthavetowaituntilyougetback.You
oweme,remember?”
Ferrograbbedhimbythesinewyarm.“Idon’trememberyousayinganything
aboutcrossingthesea!”
“Idon’trememberyourasking,Maljinn,andyoushouldbegladyoudidn’t!”
Hepeeledherfingersgentlyaway.“Yourcorpsemightbedryingnicelyinthe
desert, instead of grumbling in my ear, all sleek and healthy—think on that a
while.”
Thatshutherupforthetimebeing.Shewalkedalonginsilence,scowlingout
acrossthescrubbylandscape,sandalscrunchingonthedrydirtoftheroad.She
lookedsidelongattheoldman.He’dsavedherlifewithhistricks,thatcouldn’t
bedenied.
Butshe’dbedamnedifshewasgoingnorth.
Thefortresswasconcealedinarockycove,butfromwheretheywere,high
uponthebluffwiththefiercesunbehindthem,Ferrocouldseetheshapeofit
well enough. A high wall enclosed neat rows of buildings, enough to make a
small town. Next to the them, built out into the water, were long wharves.
Mooredtothewharveswereships.
Hugeships.
Towersofwood,floatingfortresses.Ferrohadneverseenshipshalfthatsize.
Theirmastswereadarkforestagainstthebrightwaterbehind.Tenweredocked
belowthem,andfurtheroutinthebaytwomorewerecuttingslowlythroughthe
waves,greatsailsbillowing,tinyfigurescrawlingonthedecksandinamongst
thespider’swebofropesabove.
“Iseetwelve,”murmuredYulwei,“butyoureyesarethesharper.”
Ferro looked out across the water. Further round the curving shore, twenty
miles away perhaps, she could see another fortress, another set of wharves.
“Therearemoreoverthere,”shesaid,“eightornine,andthoseonesarebigger.”
“Biggerthanthese?”
“Alotbigger.”
“God’sbreath!”mutteredYulweitohimself.“TheGurkishneverbuiltshipsso
big before, not half so big, nor half so many. There is not the wood in all the
South for such a fleet. They must have bought it from the north, from the
Styrians,maybe.”
Ferrocarednothingforboats,orwood,orthenorth.“So?”
“With a fleet this size, the Gurkish will be a power at sea. They could take
Dagoskafromthebay,invadeWestporteven.”
Thepointlessnamesoffar-awayplaces.“So?”
“You don’tunderstand, Ferro. I mustwarntheothers.We mustmakehaste,
now!”Hepushedhimselfupfromthegroundandhurriedbacktowardstheroad.
Ferrogrunted.Shewatchedthebigwoodentubsmovingbackandforthinthe
bayforamomentlonger,thenshegotupandfollowedYulwei.Greatshipsor
tinyships,itmeantnothingtoher.TheGurkishcouldtakeallthepinksinthe
worldforslavesasfarasshewasconcerned.
Ifthatmeanttheylefttherealpeoplealone.
“Out of the way!” The soldier spurred his horse right at them, raising his
whip.
“A thousand pardons, master!” whined Yulwei, grovelling to the ground,
scuttling off into the grass beside the road, pulling Ferro reluctantly by the
elbow. She stood in the scrub, watching the column shamble slowly by. Thin
figures, ragged, dirty, vacant, hands bound tightly, hollow eyes on the ground.
Menandwomen, all ages, children even.A hundred or more.Sixguards rode
alongsidethem,easyintheirtallsaddles,whipsrolledupintheirhands.
“Slaves.”Ferrolickedherdrylips.
“ThepeopleofKadirhaverisenup,”saidYulwei,frowningatthemiserable
procession.“TheywishednolongertobepartofthegloriousnationofGurkhul,
andthoughtthedeathoftheEmperormightbetheirchancetoleave.Itseems
theywerewrong.ThenewEmperorishardereventhanthelast,eh,Ferro?Their
rebellion has failed already. It seems your friend Uthman has taken slaves as
punishment.”
Ferro watched a scrawny girl limping slowly, bare feet trailing in the dust.
Thirteenyearsold?Itwashardtotell.Herfacewasdirtyandlistless.Therewas
a scabby cut across her forehead, others on the back of her arm. Whip marks.
Ferroswallowed,watchedthegirltoilingalong.Anoldman,justinfrontofher,
trippedandsprawledfacefirstintotheroad,makingthewholecolumnstumble
toahalt.
“Move!”barkedoneoftheriders,spurringhishorseforward.“Onyourfeet!”
Theoldmanstruggledinthedust.“Move!”Thesoldier’swhipcracked,leaving
alongred mark across the man’s scrawny back. Ferrotwitchedandwinced at
thesound,andherbackbegantotingle.
Wherethescarswere.
Almostasifshe’dbeenwhippedherself.
NoonewhipsFerroMaljinnandlives.Notanymore.Sheshruggedthebow
offhershoulder.
“Peace,Ferro!”hissedYulwei,grabbingherbythearm.“There’snothingyou
candoforthem!”
Thegirlbentdown,helpingtheoldslavetohisfeet.Thewhipcrackedagain,
catchingthemboth,andtherewasayelpofpain.Wasitthegirlorthemanwho
hadcriedout?
OrhaditbeenFerroherself?
SheshookYulwei’shandoff,reachingforanarrow.“Icankillthisbastard!”
shesnarled.Thesoldier’sheadsnappedroundtolookatthem,curious.Yulwei
seizedholdofherhand.
“Whatthen?”hehissed.“Ifyoukilledallsixofthem,whatthen?Haveyou
foodandwaterforahundredslaves?Eh?Youhaveitwellconcealed!Andwhen
the column is missed? Eh? And their guards found slaughtered? What then,
killer?Willyouhideahundredslavesouthere?BecauseIcannot!”
FerrostaredintoYulwei’sblackeyes,herteethgrindingtogether,herbreath
snortingfastthroughhernose.Shewonderedwhetherornottotryandkillhim
again.
No.
Hewasright,damnhim.Slowly,shepushedtheangerback,asfardownasit
wouldgo.Sheshovedthearrowaway,andturnedbacktowardsthecolumn.She
watched the old slave stumble on, and the girl after him, fury gnawing at her
gutslikehunger.
“You!”calledthesoldier,nudginghishorseovertowardsthem.
“You’ve done it now!” hissed Yulwei, then he bowed to the guard, smiling,
scraping.“Myapologiesmaster,mysonis…”
“Shut your mouth, old man!” The soldier looked down at Ferro from his
saddle.“Well,boy,doyoulikeher?”
“What?”shehissed,throughgrittedteeth.
“Noneedtobeshy,”chuckledthesoldier,“I’veseenyoulooking.”Heturned
towardsthecolumn.“Holdthemupthere!”heshouted,andtheslavesstumbled
to a halt. He leaned from his saddle and grabbed the scrawny girl under the
armpit,draggingherroughlyoutofthecolumn.
“She’sagoodone,”hesaid,pullinghertowardsFerro.“Bityoung,butshe’s
ready.Cleanupnice,shewill.Bitofalimpbutthat’llheal,we’vebeendriving
’em hard. Good teeth… show him your teeth, bitch!” The girl’s cracked lips
curledbackslowly.“Goodteeth.Whatdoyousayboy?Teningoldforher!It’s
agoodprice!”
Ferrostoodthere,staring.Thegirllookeddumblybackwithbig,deadeyes.
“Look,” said the soldier, leaning down from his saddle. “She’s worth twice
that,andthere’snodangerinit!WhenwegettoShaffa,I’lltellthemshedied
outhereinthedust.Noonewillwonderatthat,ithappensallthetime!Igetten,
andyousaveten!Everyonewins!”
Everyonewins.Ferrostaredupattheguard.Hepulledhishelmetoff,wiped
hisforeheadwiththebackofhishand.“Peace,Ferro,”whisperedYulwei.
“Alright, eight!” Shouted the soldier. “She’s got a nice smile! Show him a
smile, bitch!” The corner of the girl’s mouth twitched slightly. “There, see!
Eight,andyou’restealingfromme!”
Ferro’s fists were clenched, nails digging into her palms. “Peace, Ferro,”
whisperedYulwei,withawarningnoteinhisvoice.
“God’s teeth but you drive a bargain boy! Seven, and that’s my last offer.
Seven,damnit!”Thesoldierwavedhishelmetaroundinfrustration.“Useher
gently,infiveyearsshe’llbeworthmore!It’saninvestment!”
Thesoldier’sfacewasjustafewfeetaway.Shecouldseeeachtinybeadof
sweatformingon his forehead, each stubbly hair onhischeeks,eachblemish,
nick,andporeonhisskin.Shecouldsmellhim,almost.
Thetrulythirstywilldrinkpiss,orsaltwater,oroil,howeverbadforthem,so
greatistheirneedtodrink.Ferrohadseenitofteninthebadlands.Thatwasthe
extent of her need to kill this man now. She wanted to tear him with her bare
hands,tochokethelifefromhim,toriphisfacewithherteeth.Thedesirewas
almosttoostrongtoresist.“Peace!”hissedYulwei.
“Ican’taffordher,”Ferroheardherselfsaying.
“Youmighthavesaidsobefore,boy,andsavedmethetrouble!”Thesoldier
stuck his helmet back on. “Still, I can’t blame you for looking. She’s a good
one.”Hereacheddownandgrabbed thegirlunder thearm,dragging herback
towardstheothers.“They’llgettwentyforherinShaffa!”heshoutedoverhis
shoulder. The column moved on. Ferro watched the girl until the slaves
disappearedoverarise,stumbling,limping,shamblingtowardsslavery.
She felt cold now, cold and empty. She wished she had killed the guard,
whateverthecost.Killinghimcouldhavefilledthatemptyspace,ifonlyfora
while.Thatwashowitworked.“Iwalkedinacolumnlikethat,”shesaidslowly.
Yulweigavealongsigh.“Iknow,Ferro,Iknow,butfatehaschosenyoufor
saving.Begratefulforit,ifyouknowhow.”
“Youshouldhaveletmekillhim.”
“Eugh,” clucked the old man in disgust, “I do declare, you’d kill the whole
worldifyoucould.IsthereanythingbutkillinginyouFerro?”
“Thereusedtobe,”shemuttered,“buttheywhipitoutofyou.Theywhipyou
untilthey’resurethere’snothingleft.”Yulweistoodthere,withthatpityinglook
onhisface.Strange,howitdidn’tmakeherangryanymore.
“I’msorry,Ferro.Sorryforyouandforthem.”Hesteppedbackintotheroad,
shakinghishead.“Butit’sbetterthandeath.”
Shestayedforamoment,watchingthedustrisingfromthedistantcolumn.
“Thesame,”shewhisperedtoherself.
SoreThumb
Logenleanedagainsttheparapet,squintedintothemorningsun,andtookin
theview.
He’ddonethesame,itfeltlongagonow,fromthebalconyofhisroomatthe
library.Thetwoviewscouldhardlyhavebeenmoredifferent.Sunriseoverthe
jagged carpet of buildings on the one hand, hot and glaring bright and full of
distantnoise.Thecoldandmistyvalleyontheother,softandemptyandstillas
death.Herememberedthatmorning,rememberedhowhe’dfeltlikeadifferent
man.Hecertainlyfeltadifferentmannow. Astupidman.Small,scared,ugly,
andconfused.
“Logen.”Malacussteppedoutontothebalconytostandbesidehim,smiledup
at the sun and out over the city to the sparkling bay, already busy with ships.
“Beautiful,isn’tit?”
“If you say so, but I’m not sure I see it. All those people.” Logen gave a
sweatyshiver.“It’snotright.Itfrightensme.”
“Frightened?You?”
“Always.” Logen had barely slept since they arrived. It was never properly
darkhere,neverproperlyquiet.Itwastoohot,tooclose,toostinking.Enemies
mightbeterrifying,butenemiescouldbefought,andputanendto.Logencould
understand their hatred. There was no fighting the faceless, careless, rumbling
city.Ithatedeverything.“Thisisnoplaceforme.I’llbegladtoleave.”
“Wemightnotbeleavingforawhile.”
“Iknow.”Logentookadeepbreath.“That’swhyI’mgoingtogodownand
lookatthisAgriont, and find out what Icanaboutit.Some things have to be
done.It’sbettertodothem thantolivewiththefearofthem.That’swhatmy
fatherusedtotellme.”
“Goodadvice.I’llcomewithyou.”
“Youwillnot.”Bayazwasinthedoorway,glaringoutathisapprentice.“Your
progressoverthelastfewweekshasbeenadisgrace,evenforyou.”Hestepped
through into the open air. “I suggest that while we are idle, waiting on His
Majesty’s pleasure, you should take the opportunity to study. Another such
chancemaybealongtimecoming.”
Malacushurriedbackinsidewithnobackwardglances.Heknewbetterthan
todawdlewithhismasterinthismood.Bayazhadlostallhisgoodhumouras
soonastheyarrivedattheAgriont,anditdidn’tlooklikecomingback.Logen
couldhardlyblamehim,they’dbeentreatedmorelikeprisonersthanguests.He
didn’tknowmuchaboutmanners,buthecouldguessthemeaningofhardstares
fromeveryoneandguardsoutsidethedoor.
“Youwouldn’t believehowit’sgrown,”growledBayaz,frowningoutatthe
greatsweepofcity.“IrememberwhenAduawasbarelymorethanahuddleof
shacks,squeezedinroundtheHouseoftheMakerlikefliesroundafreshturd.
BeforetherewasanAgriont.BeforetherewasaUnion,even.Theyweren’thalf
soproudinthosedays,Icantellyou.TheyworshippedtheMakerlikeagod.”
He noisily hawked up a lump of phlegm and spat it out into the air. Logen
watcheditclearthemoatandvanishsomewhereinamongstthewhitebuildings
below. “I gave them this,” hissed Bayaz. Logen felt the unpleasant creeping
sensationthatalwaysseemedtoaccompanytheoldwizard’sdispleasure.“Igave
them freedom, and this is the thanks I get? The scorn of clerks? Of swollen-
headed old errand-boys?” A trip down into the suspicion and madness below
begantoseemlikeamercifulrelease.Logenedgedtowardsthedoorandducked
backintotheroombeyond.
IftheywereprisonersherethenLogenhadbeeninsomehardercells,hehad
toadmit.TheirroundlivingroomwasfitforaKing,tohismindatleast:heavy
chairsofdarkwoodwithdelicatecarvings,thickhangingsonthewallsshowing
woodsandhuntingscenes.Bethodwouldmostlikelyhavefeltathomeinsucha
room. Logen felt like an oaf there, always on his toes in case he broke
something.Atalljarstoodonatableinthechamber’scentre,itssidespainted
with bright flowers. Logen eyed it suspiciously as he made for the long stair
downintotheAgriont.
“Logen!”Bayazwasframedinthedoorway,frowningafterhim.“Takecare.
Theplacemayseemstrange,butthepeoplearestrangerstill.”
Thewaterfrothedandgurgled,spurtingupinanarrowjetfromametaltube
carvedlikeafish’smouth,thensplashingbackdownintoawidestonebasin.A
fountain,theproudyoungmanhadcalledit.Pipes,beneaththeearth,he’dsaid.
Logenpicturedundergroundstreams,coursingjustbeneathhisfeet,washingat
thefoundationsoftheplace.Thethoughtmadehimfeelslightlydizzy.
Thesquarewasvast—agreatplainofflatstones,hemmedinbysheercliffsof
whitebuildings.Hollowcliffs,coveredwithpillarsandcarvings,glitteringwith
tallwindows,crawlingwithpeople.Somethingstrangeseemedtobehappening
today.Allaroundthedistantedgesofthesquareanenormous,slopingstructure
of wooden beams was being built. An army of workmen swarmed over it,
hacking and bludgeoning, swinging at pegs and joints, hurling bad-tempered
shoutsateachother.Allaroundthemweremountainsofplanksandlogs,barrels
ofnails,stacksoftools,enoughtobuildtenmightyhalls,andmorebesides.In
placesthestructurewasalreadyfar abovethe ground,its uprightssoaring into
theairlikethemastsofgreatships,ashighasthemonstrousbuildingsbehind.
Logenstood, handson hips,gawping attheenormouswoodenskeleton,but
itspurposewasamystery.Hesteppeduptoashortmuscularmaninaleather
apron,sawingfuriouslyataplank.“What’sthis?”
“Eh?”Themandidn’tevenlookupfromhistask.
“This.What’sitfor?”
The saw bit through the wood, the off-cut clattered to the ground. The
carpenterheftedtherestoftheplankontoapilenearby.Heturnedround,eyeing
Logensuspiciously,wipingsweatfromhisglisteningforehead.
“Stands.Seating.”Logenstaredvacantlybackathim.Howcouldsomething
standandsitatonce?“FortheContest!”thecarpentershoutedinhisface.Logen
backed slowly away. Gibberish. Nonsense words. He turned and hurried off,
keepingwellclearofthehugewoodenstructuresandthemenclamberingover
them.
He blundered out onto a broad lane, a deep gorge between looming white
buildings. Statues faced each other down either side, much larger than life,
frowningovertheheads of the many people hurryingbetween.Thenearest of
thecarvingsseemedstrangelyfamiliar.Logenwalkedovertoit,lookeditupand
down,thengrinned to himself. TheFirstofthe Magi had gained someweight
sinceitwassculpted.Toomuchgoodeatingatthelibrary,maybe.Logenturned
towardsasmallmanwithablackhat,walkingbywithabigbookunderhisarm.
“Bayaz,”hesaid,pointingupatthestatue.“Friendofmine.”Themanstared
athim,atthestatue,backathim,andhurriedaway.
Thecarvingsmarchedondowneithersideoftheavenue.KingsoftheUnion,
Logenguessed,stoodinlineon theleft.Somecarriedswords,somescrollsor
tinyships.Onehadadogathisfeet,anotherasheafofwheatunderhisarm,but
otherwisetherewasn’tmuchtotellthemapart.Theyallhadthesametallcrowns
and the same stern frowns. You wouldn’t have thought to look at them that
they’deversaidastupidword,ordoneastupidthing,orhadtotakeashitinall
theirlives.
Logen heard rapid footsteps thumping up behind him, and he turned just in
timetoseetheproudyoungmanfromthegate,poundingdowntheavenue,shirt
soakedthroughwithsweat.Logenwonderedwherehemightbegoinginsucha
hurry,buthewasdamnedifhewasgoingtoruntocatchupwithhim,notinthis
heat.Anyway,therewereplentymoremysteriesthatneededsolving.
Thelaneopenedoutintoagreat,greenspace,scoopedoutfromthecountry
bygianthandsanddroppedinamongstthetallbuildings,butlikenocountryside
thatLogenhadeverseen.Thegrasswasasmooth,evenblanketofvividgreen,
shaved almost to the ground. There were flowers, but growing in rows and
circlesandstraightlinesofbrightcolour.Therewerelushbushesandtrees,all
squeezedandfencedandclippedintounnaturalshapes.Therewaswater,too—
streams bubbling over stone steps, a great flat pond with sad-looking trees
trailingrounditsedge.
Logen wandered through this square-edged greenery, boots crunching on a
pathmadeoftinygreystones.Therewerelotsofpeoplegatheredhere,squeezed
in together to enjoy the sun. They sat in boats on the miniature lake, rowing
gentlyroundandround,goingnowhere.Theylazedonthelawns,ate,drankand
babbled to one another. Some of them would point at Logen and shout, or
whisper,orslopeaway.
Theywereastrange-seemingcrowd,especiallythewomen.Paleandghostly,
swaddledinelaboratedresses,hairscrapedupandpiledandstuckthroughwith
pinsandcombsandgreatweirdfeathersoruselesstinyhats.Theyseemedlike
thebigjarintheroundchamber—toothinanddelicatetobeanyuse,andfurther
spoiledbytoomuchdecoration.Butithadbeenalongtime,andhesmiledat
them cheerfully, on the off chance. Some looked shocked, others gasped in
horror.Logensighed.Theoldmagicwasstillthere.
Further on, in another wide square, Logen stopped to watch a group of
soldiers practice. These weren’t beggars, or girlish youths, these were solid-
looking men wearing heavy armour, breastplates and greaves polished mirror
bright,longspears shouldered. They stood together, eachmanthesame as the
one beside, in four squares of maybe fifty men each, still as the statues in the
avenue.
Atabellowfromashortmaninaredjacket—theirchief,Logenreckoned—
the whole crowd turned, levelled their spears and began to advance across the
square, heavy boots tramping together. Each man the same, armed the same,
movingthesame.Itwasquiteasight,allthatshiningmetalmovingsteadilyin
bristlingsquares,spearpoints glittering,like somegreat squarehedgehog with
two hundred legs. Deadly enough, no doubt, on a big flat space, against an
imaginary enemy right in front. How it would work on broken rocks, in the
tipping rain, in a tangled wood, Logen was less sure. Those men would tire
quickly,in allthatweightofarmour,andifthesquarescouldbebroken,what
wouldtheydo?Menwhowereusedtoalwayshavingothersattheirshoulder?
Couldtheyfightalone?
He plodded on, through wide courtyards and neat gardens, past gurgling
fountainsandproudstatues,downcleanlanesandbroadavenues.Hewandered
up and down narrow stairways, across bridges over streams, over roads, over
otherbridges.Hesaw guardsin adozen differentsplendid liveries,guarding a
hundreddifferentgatesandwallsanddoors,everyoneeyeinghimwiththesame
deepsuspicion.Thesunclimbedinthesky,thetallwhitebuildingsslidbyuntil
Logenwasfootsoreandhalflost,hisneckachingfromlookingalwaysupwards.
The only constant was the monstrous tower which loomed high, high over
everything else, making the greatest of the great buildings seem mean. It was
alwaysthere,glimpsedoutofthecornerofyoureye,peeringoverthetopsofthe
roofsinthedistance.Logen’sfootstepsdraggedhimslowlycloserandcloserto
it,untilhecametoaneglectedcornerofthecitadelinitsveryshadow.
Hefoundanoldbenchbesidearaggedlawnnearagreatcrumblingbuilding,
coated with moss and ivy, its steep roofs sagging in the middles and missing
tiles.Heslumpeddown,puffingouthischeeks,andfrownedupatthatenormous
shapebeyondthewalls,cutoutdarkagainsttheblue,amanmademountainof
dry,stark,deadstones.Noplantsclungtothatloomingmass,notevenaclump
ofmossinthecracksbetweenthegreatblocks.TheHouseoftheMaker,Bayaz
hadcalledit.ItlookedlikenohousethatLogenhadeverseen.Therewereno
roofs above, no doors or windows in those naked walls. A cluster of mighty,
sharp-edgedtiersofrock.Whatneedcouldthereeverbetobuildathingsobig?
WhowasthisMakeranyway?Wasthisallhemade?Agreatbig,uselesshouse?
“YoumindifIsit?”TherewasawomanlookingdownatLogen,morewhat
hewouldhavecalledawomanthanthosestrange,ghostlythingsinthepark.A
prettywomaninawhitedress,faceframedbydarkhair.
“DoImind?No.It’safunnything,butnooneelsewantstositwithme.”
Shedroppeddownatthefarendofthebench,restingherchinonherhands,
her elbows on her knees, gazing up without interest at the looming tower.
“Perhapsthey’reafraidofyou.”
Logenwatchedamanhurrypastwithasheafofpapersunderhisarm,staring
athimwithwideeyes.“I’mstartingtothinkthesamething.”
“Youdolookalittledangerous.”
“Hideousisthewordyou’relookingfor.”
“IusuallyfindthewordsI’mlookingfor,andIsaydangerous.”
“Well,lookscanlie.”
Sheliftedaneyebrow,lookinghimslowlyupanddown.“Youmustbeaman
ofpeacethen.”
“Huh… not entirely.” They looked at each other sidelong. She didn’t seem
afraid,orscornful,oreveninterested.“Whyaren’tyouscared?”
“I’mfromAngland,Iknowyourpeople.Besides,”andsheletherheaddrop
ontothebackofthebench,“nooneelsewilltalktome.I’mdesperate.”
Logenstaredatthestumpofhismiddlefinger,waggleditbackandforthas
farasitwouldgo.“You’dhavetobe.I’mLogen.”
“Goodforyou.I’mnobody.”
“Everybody’ssomebody.”
“Notme.I’mnothing.I’minvisible.”
Logenfrownedather,turnedsidewaystohim,loungingbackonthebenchin
thesun,herlongsmoothneckstretchedout,chestrisingandfallinggently.“Isee
you.”
Sherolledherheadtolookathim.“You…areagentleman.”
Logensnortedwithlaughter.He’dbeencalledalotofthingsinhistime,but
neverthat.Theyoungwomandidn’tjoinhiminhisamusement.“Idon’tbelong
here,”shemutteredtoherself.
“Neitheroneofus.”
“No.Butthisismyhome.”Shegotupfromthebench.“Goodbye,Logen.”
“Fareyouwell,nobody.”Hewatchedherturnandwalkslowlyaway,shaking
his head. Bayaz had been right. The place was strange, but the people were
strangerstill.
Logenwokewithapainfulstart,blinkedandstaredwildlyabouthim.Dark.
Not quite entirely dark, of course, there was still the ever-present glow of the
city.Hethoughthe’d heard something, buttherewasnothing now. It was hot.
Hot and close and strangling, even with the sticky draught from the open
window. He groaned, threw the damp blankets down around his waist, rubbed
thesweatfromhischestandwipeditonthewallbehindhim.Thelightnagged
at his eyelids. And that was not the worst of his problems. Say one thing for
LogenNinefingers,saythatheneedstopiss.
Unfortunately,youcouldn’tjustpissinapotinthisplace.Theyhadaspecial
thing, like a flat wooden shelf with a hole in it, in a little room. He’d peered
downinto thatholewhen theyfirstarrived, wonderingwhatitcouldbe for.It
seemedlikealongwaydown,anditsmelledbad.Malacushadexplaineditto
him.Apointlessandbarbaricinvention.Youhadtositthere,onthehardwood,
anunpleasantdraughtblowingroundyourfruits.Butthatwascivilisation,sofar
asLogencouldtell.Peoplewithnothingbettertodo,dreamingupwaystomake
easythingsdifficult.
He floundered out of bed and picked his way to where he remembered the
doorbeing,bentoverwithhisarmsfeelingaboutinfrontofhim.Toolight to
sleep,buttoodarktoactuallyseeanything.“Fuckingcivilisation,”hemuttered
to himself as he fumbled with the latch on the door, sliding his bare feet
cautiouslyintothebigcircularroomatthecentreoftheirchambers.
Itwascoolinhere,verycool.Thecoldairfeltgoodonhisbareskinafterthe
dampheatofhisbedroom.Whywasn’thesleepinginhere,insteadofthatoven
next door? He squinted at the shadowy walls, face all screwed up with the
painful fuzz of sleep, trying to work out which blurry door led to the pissing-
shelf. Knowing his luck he’d probably blunder into Bayaz’ room and
accidentally piss on the First of the Magi while he was asleep. That wouldbe
justthethingtosweetenthewizard’stemper.
Hetookastepforward.Therewasaclunkandarattleashislegbargedinto
the corner of the table. He cursed, grabbing at his bruised shin—then he
rememberedthe jar. Helungedand caughtitby therimjustbeforeit fell.His
eyeswereadjustingtothehalf-lightnow,andhecouldjustmakeouttheflowers
paintedonthecold,shinysurface.Hemovedtoputitbackonthetable,butthen
itoccurredtohim.Whygoanyfurtherwhenhehadaperfectlygoodpotright
there? He glanced furtively round the room, swinging the jar into position…
thenfroze.
Hewasnotalone.
Atall,slenderfigure,vagueinthehalf-light.Hecouldjustmakeoutlonghair,
blowing gently in the breeze from the open window. He strained against the
darkness,buthecouldn’tseetheface.
“Logen…”Awoman’svoice,softandlow.Hedidn’tlikethesoundofitone
bit.Itwascoldintheroom,verycold.Hetookafirmgriponthejar.
“Whoareyou?”hecroaked,voicesuddenlyloudinthedeadstillness.Washe
dreaming? He shook his head, squeezed the jar in his hand. It all felt real.
Horriblyreal.
“Logen…” The woman moved silently towards him. Soft light from the
windowcaughtthesideofherface.Awhitecheek,ashadowyeye-socket,the
cornerofamouth,thensunkindarknessagain.Therewassomethingfamiliar…
Logen’s mind fumbled for it as he backed away, eyes fixed on her outline,
keepingthetablebetweenthem.
“What do you want?” He had a cold feeling in his chest, a bad feeling. He
knewheshouldbeshoutingforhelp,raisingtheothers,butsomehowhehadto
knowwhoitwas.Hadtoknow.Theairwasfreezing,Logencouldalmostseehis
breathsmokingbeforehisface.Hiswifewasdead,heknewthat,deadandcold
andgonebacktothemud,longagoandfaraway.He’dseenthevillage,burned
toashes,fullofcorpses.Hiswifewasdead…andyet…
“Thelfi?”hewhispered.
“Logen…”Hervoice!Hervoice!Hismouthdroppedopen.Shereachedout
forhim,throughthelightfromthewindow.Palehand,palefingers,long,white
nails.Theroomwasicy,icycold.“Logen!”
“You’re dead!” He raised the jar, ready to smash it down on her head. The
handreachedout,fingersspreadingwide.
Suddenly,theroomwasbrightasday.Brighter.Brilliant,searingbright.The
murky outlines of the doors, the furniture, were transformed into hard white
edges, black shadows. Logen squeezed his eyes shut, shielded them with his
arm,droppedbackgaspingagainstthewall.Therewasadeafeningcrashlikea
landslide, a tearing and splintering like a great tree falling, a stink of burning
wood.Logenopenedoneeyeacrack,peeredoutfrombetweenhisfingers.
The chamber was strangely altered. Dark, once more, but less dark than
before. Light filtered in through a great ragged hole in the wall where the
windowusedto be.Twoofthechairshadgone,athird teeteredonthreelegs,
brokenedgesglowingfaintly,smoulderinglikesticksthathadbeenalongtime
inafire.Thetable,standingrightbesidehimjustamomentbefore,wassheared
inhalfontheothersideoftheroom.Partoftheceilinghadbeentornawayfrom
the rafters and the floor was littered with chunks of stone and plaster, broken
lengths of wood and fragments of glass. Of the strange woman there was no
sign.
Bayaz picked his way unsteadily through the wreckage towards the gaping
holeinthewall,nightshirtflappingaroundhisthickcalves,andpeeredoutinto
thenight.“It’sgone.”
“It?”Logenstaredatthesteaminghole.“Sheknewmyname…”
Thewizardstumbledovertothelastremainingintactchairandflunghimself
intoitlikeamanexhausted.“AnEater,perhaps.SentbyKhalul.”
“Awhat?”askedLogen,baffled.“Sentbywho?”
Bayazwipedsweatfromhisface.“Youwantednottoknow.”
“That’strue.”Logencouldn’tdenyit.Herubbedathischin,staringoutofthe
ragged patch of night sky, wondering whether now might be a good time to
changehismind.Butbythenitwastoolate.Therewasafrantichammeringat
thedoor.
“Getthat,wouldyou?”Logenstumbledstupidlythroughthedebrisandslid
backthe bolt.Anangry-looking guard shoulderedhis way past,a lamp inone
hand,drawnswordintheother.
“Therewasanoise!”Thelightfromhislampsweptoverthewreckage,found
the ragged edge of the ripped plaster, the broken stone, the empty night sky
beyond.“Shit,”hewhispered.
“Wehadanuninvitedguest,”mutteredLogen.
“Er…Imustnotify…”theguardlookedthoroughlyconfused“…somebody.”
He tripped and nearly fell over a fallen beam as he backed towards the door.
Logenheardhisfootstepsrattlingawaydownthestairs.
“What’sanEater?”Therewasnoreply.Thewizardwasasleep,eyesclosed,a
deep frown on his face, chest moving slowly. Logen looked down. He was
surprisedtoseehestillhadthepot,beautifulanddelicate,claspedtightlyinhis
righthand.Hecarefullysweptclearaspaceonthefloorandsetthejardown,in
amongstthewreckage.
One of the doors banged open and Logen’s heart jumped. It was Malacus,
wild-eyedandstaring,hairstickingupoffhisheadatallangles.“Whatthe…”
Hestumbledtotheholeandpeeredgingerlyoutintothenight.“Shit!”
“Malacus,what’sanEater?”
Quai’sheadsnappedroundtolookatLogen,hisfaceapictureofhorror.“It’s
forbidden,”hewhispered,“toeatthefleshofmen…”
Questions
Gloktaheapedporridgeintohismouthasfastashecould,hopingtogethalfa
meal’s worth down before his gorge began to rise. He swallowed, coughed,
shuddered.Heshovedthebowlaway,asthoughitsverypresenceoffendedhim.
Which,infact,itdoes.“Thishadbetterbeimportant,Severard,”hegrumbled.
ThePracticalscrapedhisgreasyhairbackwithonehand.“Dependswhatyou
meanbyimportant.It’saboutourmagicalfriends.”
“Ah,theFirstoftheMagiandhisboldcompanions.Whataboutthem?”
“There was some manner of a disturbance at their chambers last night.
Someonebrokein,theysay.Therewasafightofsomesort.Seemsasifsome
damagewasdone.”
“Someone?Somesort?Somedamage?”Gloktagaveadisapprovingshakeof
hishead.“Seems?Seemsisn’tgoodenoughforus,Severard.”
“Well it’ll have to be, this time. The guard was a little thin on the details.
Lookeddamnworried,ifyouaskme.”Severardsprawledalittledeeperintohis
chair, shoulders hunching up around his ears. “Someone needs to go and look
intoit,mightaswellbeus.Youcangetagoodlookatthem,closeup.Askthem
somequestions,maybe.”
“Wherearethey?”
“You’lllovethis.TheTowerofChains.”
Gloktascowledashesuckedafewbitsofporridgefromhisemptygums.Of
course.Andrightatthetop,Ibet.Lotsofsteps.“Anythingelse?”
“The Northman went for a stroll yesterday, walked in circles round half the
Agriont. We watched him, of course.” The Practical sniffed and adjusted his
mask.“Uglybastard.”
“Ah,theinfamousNorthman.Didhecommitanyoutrages?Rapeandmurder,
buildingsaflame,thattypeofthing?”
“Notmuch,beinghonest.Atediousmorningforeveryone.Wanderedaround
andgawpedatthings.Hespoketoacoupleofpeople.”
“Anyoneweknow?”
“No one important. One of the carpenters working on the stands for the
Contest.AclerkontheKingsway.TherewassomegirlneartheUniversity.He
spoketoherforawhile.”
“Agirl?”
Severard’seyesgrinned.“That’sright,andanice-lookingonetoo.Whatwas
hername?”He snapped his fingers.“Imade sure I founditout.Her brother’s
withtheKing’sOwn…West,somethingWest…”
“Ardee.”
“That’stheone!Youknowher?”
“Hmm.” Glokta licked at his empty gums. She asked me how I was. I
remember.“Whatdidtheyhavetotalkabout?”
The Practical raised his eyebrows. “Probably nothing. She’s from Angland
though,notbeen in the citylong.Might be some connection.You wantmeto
bringherin?Wecouldsoonfindout.”
“No!” snapped Glokta. “No. No need. Her brother used to be a friend of
mine.”
“Usedtobe.”
“Noonetouchesher,Severard,youhear?”
ThePracticalshrugged.“Ifyousayso,Inquisitor.Ifyousayso.”
“Ido.”
Therewasapause.“Sowe’redonewiththeMercersthen,arewe?”Severard
soundedalmostwistful.
“Itwouldseemso.They’refinished.Nothingbutsomecleaninguptodo.”
“Somelucrativecleaningup,Idaresay.”
“I daresay,” said Glokta sourly. “But his Eminence feels our talents will be
betterusedelsewhere.”Likewatchingfakewizards. “Hope you didn’t lose out
onyourlittlepropertybythedocks.”
Severard shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you need somewhere away
from prying eyes again, before too long. It’ll still be there. At the right price.
Shametoleaveajobhalfdoneisall.”
True.Gloktapausedforamoment,considering.Dangerous.TheArchLector
said go no further. Very dangerous, to disobey, and yet I smell something. It
niggles,toleavealooseend,whateverhisEminencemightsay.“Theremightbe
onemorething.”
“Really?”
“Yes,butkeepitsubtle.Doyouknowanythingaboutbanks?”
“Bigbuildings.Theylendpeoplemoney.”
Gloktagaveathinsmile.“Ihadnoideayouweresuchanexpert.There’sone
inparticularI’minterestedin.NameofValintandBalk.”
“Neverheardofthem,butIcanaskaround.”
“Just keep it discreet, Severard, do you understand me? No one can know
aboutthis.Imeanit.”
“Discretion is what I’m all about, chief, ask anyone. Discreet. That’s me.
Knownforit.”
“You’dbetterbe,Severard.Youhadbetterbe.”Oritcouldbebothourheads.
Gloktasat,wedgedintotheembrasurewithhisbackagainstthestonesandhis
left leg stretched out in front of him—a searing, pulsing furnace of pain. He
expectedpainofcourse,everymomentofeveryday.Butthisissomethingjusta
bitspecial.
Everybreathwasarattlingmoanthroughrigidjaws.Everytiniestmovement
was a mighty task. He remembered how Marshal Varuz had made him run up
and down these steps when he was training for the Contest, years ago. I took
themthreeat atime,up anddownwithoutasecondthought.Nowlookatme.
Whowouldhavethoughtitcouldcometothis?
His trembling body ran with sweat, his stinging eyes ran with tears, his
burningnosedrippedwaterysnot.Allthiswaterflowingoutofme,andyetI’m
thirstyashell.Where’sthesenseinthat?Wherewasthesenseinanyofit?What
ifsomeoneshouldcomepast,andseemelikethis?Theterrifyingscourgeofthe
Inquisition,floppedonhisarseinawindow,barelyabletomove?WillIforcea
nonchalantsmileontothisrigidmaskofagony?WillIpretendthatalliswell?
ThatIoftencomehere,tosprawlbesidethestairs?OrwillIweepandscream
andbegforhelp?
Butnoonepassed.Helaythere,wedgedinthatnarrowspace,three-quarters
of the way up the Tower of Chains, the back of his head resting on the cool
stones,histremblingkneesdrawnupinfrontofhim.SanddanGlokta,master
swordsman,dashingcavalryofficer,whatgloriousfuturemighthehaveinfront
ofhim?TherewasatimewhenIcouldrunforhours.Runandrunandnever
tire.Hecouldfeelatrickleofsweatrunningdownhisback.WhydoIdothis?
Why the hell would anyone do this? I could stop today. I could go home to
mother.Butthenwhat?Thenwhat?
“Inquisitor,I’mgladyou’rehere.”
Goodforyou,bastard.I’mnot.Gloktaleanedagainstthewallatthetopofthe
stairs,suchteethashehadgrindingagainsthisgums.
“They’re inside, it’s quite a mess…” Glokta’s hand trembled, the tip of his
canerattlingagainstthestones.Hisheadswam.Theguardwasblurryanddim
throughhistwitchingeyelids.“Areyoualright?”Heloomedforwards,onearm
outstretched.
Gloktalookedup.“Justgetthefuckingdoor,fool!”
Themanjumpedaway,hurriedtothedoorandpusheditopen.Everypartof
Gloktalongedtogiveupandsprawlonhisface,buthewilledhimselfupright.
Heforcedonefootbeforetheother,forcedhisbreathtocomeeven,forcedhis
shouldersbackandhisheadhigh,andsweptimperiouslypasttheguard,every
partofhisbodysingingwithpain.Whathesawbeyondthedoorsalmostbroke
hisveneerofcomposurehowever.
Yesterday these were some of the finest rooms in the Agriont. They were
reserved for the most honoured of guests, the most important of foreign
dignitaries. Yesterday. A gaping hole was ripped out of one wall where the
windowshouldhavebeen,theskybeyondblindingbrightafterthedarknessof
thestairwell.Asectionoftheceilinghadcollapsed,brokentimbersandshreds
of plaster hanging down into the room. The floor was strewn with chunks of
stone,splintersofglass,tornfragmentsofcolouredcloth.Theantiquefurniture
hadbeensmashedtoscatteredpieces,brokenedgescharredandblackenedasif
byfire.Onlyonechair,halfatable,andatallornamentaljar,strangelypristine
inthemiddleoftherubble-strewnfloor,hadescapedthedestruction.
Inthemidstofthisexpensivewreckagestoodaconfusedandsickly-seeming
youngman.HelookedupasGloktapickedhiswaythroughtherubbleroundthe
doorway,tonguedartingnervouslyoverhislips,evidentlyonedge.Hasanyone
everlookedmoreofafraud?
“Er, good morning?” The young man’s fingers twitched nervously at his
gown, a heavy thing, stitched with arcane symbols. And doesn’t he look
uncomfortablein it? If thismanisa wizard’s apprentice, IamtheEmperor of
Gurkhul.
“IamGlokta.FromhisMajesty’sInquisition.Ihavebeensenttoinvestigate
this…unfortunatebusiness.Iwasexpectingsomeoneolder.”
“Oh,yes,sorry,IamMalacusQuai,”stammeredtheyoungman,“apprentice
togreat Bayaz, the Firstofthe Magi, greatinhigh art and learnedindeep—”
Kneel,kneelbeforeme!IamthemightyEmperorofGurkhul!
“Malacus…” Glokta cut him off rudely “…Quai. You are from the Old
Empire?”
“Whyyes,”theyoungmanbrightenedslightlyatthat.“Doyouknowmy—”
“No.Notatall.”Thepalefacesagged.“Wereyouherelastnight?”
“Er,yes,Iwasasleep,nextdoor.I’mafraidIdidn’tseeanythingthough…”
Glokta stared at him, intent and unblinking, trying to work him out. The
apprentice coughed and looked at the floor, as if wondering what to clean up
first. Can this really make the Arch Lector nervous? A miserable actor. His
wholemannerreeksofdeception.
“Someonesawsomething,though?”
“Well,erm,MasterNinefingers,Isuppose—”
“Ninefingers?”
“Yes, our Northern companion.” The young man brightened. “A warrior of
greatrenown,achampion,aprinceamonghis—”
“You,fromtheOldEmpire.He,aNorthman.Whatacosmopolitanbandyou
are.”
“Wellyes,haha,wedo,Isuppose—”
“WhereisNinefingersnow?”
“StillasleepIthink,er,Icouldwakehim—”
“Wouldyoubesokind?”Gloktatappedhiscaneonthefloor.“Itwasquitea
climb,andIwouldrathernotcomebacklater.”
“No,er,ofcourse…sorry”HehastenedovertooneofthedoorsandGlokta
turned away, pretending to examine the gaping wound in the wall while
grimacinginagonyandbitinghisliptokeepfromwailinglikeasickchild.He
seized hold of the broken stones at the edge of the hole with his free hand,
squeezingthemashardashecould.
Asthespasmpassedhebegantotakemoreinterestinthedamage.Eventhis
high up the wall was a good four feet thick, solidly built from rubble bonded
with mortar, faced with cut stone blocks. It would take a rock from a truly
mightycatapulttomakesuchabreach,orateamofstrongworkmengoingnight
and day for a week. A giant siege engine or a group of labourers would
doubtlesshaveattractedtheattentionoftheguards.Sohowwasitmade?Glokta
ranhishandoverthecrackedstones.Hehadonceheardrumoursthatinthefar
south they made a kind of blasting powder. Could a little powder have done
this?
ThedooropenedandGloktaturnedtoseeabigmanduckingunderthelow
lintel,buttoninghisshirtwithslow,heavyhands.Athoughtfulkindofslowness.
As if he could move quickly but doesn’t see the point. His hair was a tangled
mass, his lumpy face badly scarred. The middle finger of his left hand was
missing.HenceNinefingers.Howveryimaginative.
“Sleepinglate?”
TheNorthmannodded.“Yourcityistoohotforme—itkeepsmeupatnight
andmakesmesleepyintheday.”
Glokta’slegwasthrobbing,hisbackwasgroaning,hisneckwasstiffasadry
branch.Itwasallhecoulddotokeephisagonyasecret.Hewouldhavegiven
anythingtosprawlinthatoneundamagedchairandscreamhisheadoff.ButI
must stand, and trade words with these charlatans. “Could you explain to me
whathappenedhere?”
Ninefingers shrugged. “I needed to piss in the night. I saw someone in the
room.” He had little trouble with the common tongue, it seemed, even if the
contentwashardlypolite.
“Didyouseewhothissomeonewas?”
“No. It was a woman, I saw that much.” He worked his shoulders, clearly
uncomfortable.
“A woman, really?” This story becomes more ridiculous by the second.
“Anythingelse?Canwenarrowoursearchbeyondhalfthepopulation?”
“Itwascold.Verycold.”
“Cold?”Ofcourse,whynot?Ononeofthehottestnightsoftheyear.
Glokta stared into the Northman’s eyes for a long time, and he stared back.
Dark,coolblueeyes,deeplyset.Nottheeyesofanidiot.Hemaylookanape,
buthedoesn’ttalklikeone.Hethinksbeforehespeaks,thensaysnomorethan
hehasto.Thisisadangerousman.
“Whatisyourbusinessinthecity,MasterNinefingers?”
“I came with Bayaz. If you want to know his business you can ask him.
Honestly,Idon’tknow.”
“Hepaysyouthen?”
“No.”
“Youfollowhimoutofloyalty?”
“Notexactly.”
“Butyouarehisservant?”
“No.Notreally.”TheNorthmanscratchedslowlyathisstubblyjaw.“Idon’t
knowwhatIam.”
Abig,uglyliariswhatyouare.Buthowtoproveit?Gloktawavedhiscane
aroundtheshatteredchamber.“Howdidyourintrudercausesomuchdamage?”
“Bayazdidthat.”
“Hedid?How?”
“Art,hecallsit.”
“Art?”
“Base magic is wild and dangerous,” intoned the apprentice pompously, as
though he were saying something of great importance, “for it comes from the
Other Side, and to touch the world below is fraught with peril. The Magus
tempersmagicwithknowledge,andthusproducesHighArt,butlikethesmith
orthe—”
“TheOtherSide?”snappedGlokta,puttingasharpendtotheyoungmoron’s
streamofdrivel.“Theworldbelow?Hell,doyoumean?Magic?Doyouknow
anymagic,MasterNinefingers?”
“Me?”TheNorthmanchuckled.“No.”Hethoughtaboutitforamomentand
thenadded,almostasanafterthought,“Icanspeaktothespiritsthough.”
“Thespirits,isthatso?”Forpity’ssake.“Perhapstheycouldtelluswhothis
intruderwas?”
“I’m afraid not.” Ninefingers shook his head sadly, either missing Glokta’s
sarcasmorchoosingtoignoreit.“Therearenoneleftawakeinthisplace.They
aresleepinghere.Theyhavebeenforalongtime.”
“Ah,ofcourse.”Wellpastspirits’bedtime.Itireofthisnonsense.“Youcome
fromBethod?”
“You could say that.”Itwas Glokta who was surprised.Hehadexpected at
best a sharp intake of breath, a hurried effort at concealment, not a frank
admission.Ninefingersdidnotevenblinkhowever.“Iwasoncehischampion.”
“Champion?”
“Ifoughttenduelsforhim.”
Gloktagropedforwords.“Didyouwin?”
“Iwaslucky.”
“Yourealise,ofcourse,thatBethodhasinvadedtheUnion?”
“Ido.”Ninefingerssighed.“Ishouldhavekilledthatbastardlongago,butI
wasyoungthen,andstupid.NowIdoubtI’llgetanotherchance,butthat’sthe
wayofthings.Youhavetobe…what’sthewordforit?”
“Realistic,”saidQuai.
Gloktafrowned.Amomentago,hehadteeteredonthebrinkofmakingsense
of all this nonsense, but the moment had slipped away and things made less
sensethanever.HestaredatNinefingers,butthatscarredfaceheldnoanswers,
only more questions. Talking with spirits? Bethod’s champion but his enemy?
Assaulted by a mysterious woman in the dead of night? And he doesn’t even
knowwhyhe’shere?Acleverliartellsasmuchtruthashecan,butthisonetells
somanyliesIhardlyknowwheretobegin.
“Ah,wehaveaguest!”Anoldmansteppedintotheroom,thicksetandstocky
withashortgreybeard,vigorouslyrubbinghisbaldheadwithacloth.Sothisis
Bayaz.Hethrewhimselfdownintheoneintactchair,movingwithnoneofthe
graceonewouldexpectfromanimportanthistoricalfigure.“Imustapologise.I
wastakingadvantage of thebath.A veryfinebath.I have been bathingevery
daysincewearrivedhereattheAgriont.Igrewsobesmirchedwiththedirtof
the road that I have positively seized upon the opportunity to be clean again.”
Theoldmanrubbedhishandoverhishairlessscalpwithafainthissingsound.
Glokta mentally compared his features to those of Bayaz’ statue in the
Kingsway. There is hardly anything uncanny about the resemblance. Half as
commandingandagreatdealshorter.GivenanhourIcouldfindfiveoldmen
who looked more convincing. If I took a razor to Arch Lector Sult, I could do
better.Gloktaglancedathisshinypate.Iwonderifhetakesarazortothatevery
morning?
“Andyouare?”askedthesupposedBayaz.
“InquisitorGlokta.”
“Ah,oneofHisMajesty’sInquisitors.Wearehonoured!”
“Ohno,thehonourismine.You,afterall,arethelegendaryBayaz,Firstof
theMagi.”
Theoldmanglaredbackathim,hisgreeneyes pricklyhard. “Legendaryis
perhapsashadetoomuch,butIamBayaz.”
“Yourcompanion,MasterNinefingers,wasjustdescribinglastnight’sevents
tome.Acolourfultale.Heclaimsthatyoucaused…allthis.”
Theoldmansnorted.“Iamnotinthehabitofwelcominguninvitedguests.”
“SoIsee.”
“Alas,therewassomedamagetothesuite.Inmyexperienceoneshouldact
quicklyanddecisively.Thepiecescanalwaysbepickedupafterward.”
“Ofcourse.Forgivemyignorance,MasterBayaz,buthow,precisely,wasthe
damagecaused?”
Theoldmansmiled.“Youcanunderstandthatwedonotsharethesecretsof
ourorderwithjustanyone,and Iamafraid thatIalreadyhaveanapprentice.”
Heindicatedtheunconvincingyouth.
“Wemet.Insimpletermsthen,perhaps,thatImightunderstand?”
“Youwouldcallitmagic.”
“Magic.Isee.”
“Indeed.Itis,afterall,whatweMagiarebestknownfor.”
“Mmm. I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to demonstrate, for my
benefit?”
“Ohno!”Theso-calledwizardgaveacomfortablelaugh.“Idon’tdotricks.”
This old fool is as hard to fathom as the Northman. The one barely speaks,
while the other talks and talks but says nothing. “I must admit to being
somewhat at a loss as to how this intruder got in.” Glokta glanced round the
room,examiningthepossiblemeansofentrance.“Theguardsawnothing,which
leavesthewindow.”
He shuffled cautiously to the hole and peered out. There had been a small
balcony, but a few stubby splinters of stone were all that remained. Otherwise
thewallfellsmoothandsheerallthewaytotheglitteringwaterfar,farbelow.
“That’squiteaclimbtomake,especiallyinadress.Animpossibleone,wouldn’t
yousay?Howdoyouthinkthiswomanmadeit?”
Theoldmansnorted.“Doyouwantmetodoyourjobforyou?Perhapsshe
clamberedupthelatrinechute!”TheNorthmanlookeddeeplytroubledbythat
suggestion.“Whydon’tyoucatchherandaskher?Isn’tthatwhatyou’rehere
for?”
Touchy, touchy, and consummately acted. An air of injured innocence so
convincing, he almost has me believing this garbage. Almost, but not quite.
“Thereinliestheproblem.Thereisnosignofyourmysteriousintruder.Nobody
hasbeenrecovered.Somewood,smallpiecesoffurniture,thestonesfromthe
wall,theywerescatteredwidelyinthestreetsbelow.Butnothingofanyintruder,
ofeithersex.”
Theoldmanstaredbackathim,ahardfrownbeginningtoformonhisface.
“Perhapsthebodyburnedtonothing.Perhapsitwastornapart,intopiecestoo
small to see, or boiled away into the air. Magic is not always precise, or
predictable, even in the hands of a master. Such things can happen. Easily.
ParticularlywhenIbecomeannoyed.”
“I fear I must risk your annoyance, though. It has occurred to me that you
mightnot,infact,beBayaz,theFirstoftheMagi.”
“Indeed?”Theoldman’sbushyeyebrowsdrewtogether.
“Imustatleastentertainthepossibility…”atensestillnesshadsettledonthe
room“…thatyouareanimpostor.”
“A fraud?” snapped the so-called Magus. The pale young man lowered his
headandbackedquietlyawaytowardsthewall.Gloktafeltsuddenlyveryalone
in the midst of that rubble strewn circle, alone and increasingly unsure of
himself,buthesoldieredon.
“Ithadoccurredtomethatthiswholeeventmighthavebeenstagedforour
benefit.Aconvenientdemonstrationofyourmagicalpowers.”
“Convenient?” Hissed the bald old man, his voice unnaturally loud.
“Convenient, say you? It would be convenient if I was left to enjoy a night’s
sleep uninterrupted. Convenient if I was now sitting in my old chair on the
ClosedCouncil.Convenientifpeopletookmywordaslaw,thewaytheyused
to,withoutaskingalotofdamnfoolquestions!”
TheresemblancetothestatueontheKingswaywassuddenlymuchincreased.
There, now, was the frown of command, the sneer of contempt, the threat of
terrible anger. The old man’s words seemed to press on Glokta like a great
weight,drivingthebreathfromhisbody,threateningtocrushhimtohisknees,
cuttingintohisskull,andleavingbehindacreepingshredofdoubt.Heglanced
upattheyawningholeinthewall.Powder?Catapults?Labourers?Istherenot
asimplerexplanation?Theworldseemedtoshiftaroundhim,asithadinthe
ArchLector’sstudyafewdaysbefore,hismindturnedthepieces,pullingthem
apart,puttingthemtogether.Whatiftheyaresimplytellingthetruth?Whatif…
No!Gloktaforcedtheideafromhismind.Heliftedhisheadandgavetheold
manasneerofhisowntothinkabout.Anagingactorwithashavedheadanda
plausiblemanner.Nothingmore.“Ifyouareasyousay,youhavenothingtofear
frommyquestions,orfromyouranswers.”
Theoldmancrackedasmileandthestrangepressurewassuddenlyreleased.
“Yourcandouratleast,Inquisitor,isquiterefreshing.Nodoubtyouwilldoyour
utmosttoproveyourtheory.Iwishyouluck.I,asyousay,havenothingtofear.
Iwouldonlyaskthatyoufindsomeproofofthisdeceptionbeforebotheringus
again.”
Gloktabowedstiffly.“Iwilltrytodoso,”hesaid,andmadeforthedoor.
“Thereisonemorething!”Theoldmanwaslookingtowardsthegapinghole
inthewall.“Woulditbepossibletofindsomeotherchambers?Thewindblows
ratherchillthroughthese.”
“Iwilllookintoit.”
“Good.Perhapssomewherewithfewersteps.Damnthingsplayhellwithmy
kneesthesedays.”Indeed?There,atleast,wecanagree.
Glokta gave the three of them one last inspection. The bald old man stared
back,hisfaceablankwall.Thelankyyouthglancedupanxiouslythenquickly
turned away. The Northman was still frowning towards the latrine door.
Charlatans,impostors,spies.Buthowtoproveit?“Goodday,gentlemen.”And
helimpedtowardsthestairswithasmuchdignityashecouldmuster.
Nobility
Jezalscrapedthelastfairhairsfromthesideofhisjawandwashedtherazor
offinthebowl.Thenhewipeditonthecloth,closeditandplaceditcarefullyon
thetable,admiringthewaythesunlightglintedonthemother-of-pearlhandle.
Hewipedhisface,andthen—hisfavouritepartoftheday—gazedathimself
inthelookingglass.Itwasagoodone,newlyimportedfromVisserine,apresent
from his father: an oval of bright, smooth glass in a frame of lavishly-carved
dark wood. A fitting surround for such a handsome man as the one gazing
happilybackathim.Honestly,handsomehardlydidhimjustice.
“You’requitethebeautyaren’tyou?”Jezalsaidtohimself,smilingasheran
hisfingersoverthesmoothskinofhisjaw.Andwhatajawitwas.Hehadoften
been told it was his best feature, not that there was anything whatever wrong
withtherestofhim.Heturnedtotheright,thentotheleft,thebettertoadmire
that magnificent chin. Not too heavy, not brutish, but not too light either, not
womanly or weak. A man’s jaw, no doubt, with a slight cleft in the chin,
speaking of strength and authority, but sensitive and thoughtful too. Had there
ever been a jaw like it? Perhaps some king, or hero of legend, once had one
almostasfine.Itwasanoblejaw,thatmuchwasclear.Nocommonercouldever
havehadachinsogrand.
Itmusthavecomefromhismother’ssideofthefamily,Jezalsupposed.His
fatherhadratheraweakchin.Hisbrotherstoo,cometothinkofit.Youhadto
feelalittlesorryforthem,hehadgotallthelooksinhisfamily.
“And most of the talent too,” he murmured happily to himself. He turned
awayfromthemirrorwithsomereluctance,stridingintohislivingroom,pulling
his shirt on and buttoning it up the front. He had to look his best today. The
thoughtgavehimalittleshiverofnerves,startinginhisstomach,creepingup
hiswindpipe,lodginginhisthroat.
Bynow,thegates would beopen.A steadyfloodofpeople would be filing
intotheAgriont,takingtheirseatsonthegreatwoodenbenchesintheSquareof
Marshals.Thousandsofthem.Everyonewhowasanyone,andplentymorewho
weren’t.Theywerealreadygathering:shouting,jostling,excited,waitingfor…
him. Jezal coughed and tried to push the thought from his mind. He had kept
himselfawakewithitforhalfthenightalready.
Hemovedovertothetable,wherethebreakfasttraywassitting.Hepickedup
a sausage absently in his fingertips and took a bite off the end, chewing it
withoutrelish.Hewrinkledhisnoseandtosseditbackin thedish. Hehad no
appetite this morning. He was just wiping his fingers on the cloth when he
noticedsomething lying onthefloorby the door,aslip of paper. He bent and
pickeditup,unfoldedit.Asingleline,writteninaneat,precisehand:
Meetmetonight,atthestatueofHarodtheGreatneartheFourCorners
—A.
“Shit,”hemurmured,disbelieving,readingthelineoverandover.Hefolded
thepapershut,glancingnervouslyroundtheroom.Jezalcouldonlythinkofone
“A”.Hehadpushedhertothebackofhismindthelastcoupleofdays,hehad
beenspendingeverysparemomenttraining.Thisbroughtitallbackthough,and
nomistake.
“Shit!” He opened the paper and read the line again. Meet me tonight? He
couldnotescapeaslightflushofsatisfactionatthat,anditslowlybecameavery
distinctglowofpleasure.Hismouthcurledintoagormlessgrin.Secretmeetings
inthe darkness? Hisskinprickled withexcitementat theprospect.But secrets
haveawayofcomingto the surface, and what if her brother foundout?That
thought brought on a fresh rush of nerves. He took the slip of paper in both
hands,readytotear it in half, but atthelastmoment he folded it instead, and
slippeditintohispocket.
AsJezalmadehiswaydown thetunnelhe couldalreadyhear thecrowd.A
strange,echoingmurmur,seemingtocomeoutoftheverystones.Hehadheard
itbefore,ofcourse,asaspectatoratlastyear’sContest,butithadn’tmadehis
skin sweat and his guts turn over then. Being part of the audience is a world
awayfrombeingpartoftheshow.
Heslowedfor amoment,thenstopped,closinghiseyesandleaningagainst
thewall,thenoiseofthecrowdrushinginhisears,tryingtobreathedeepand
composehimself.
“Don’tworry,Iknowjusthowyoufeel.”JezalfeltWest’sconsolinghandon
hisshoulder.“Inearlyturnedaroundandranthefirsttime,butit’llpassassoon
asthesteelsaredrawn,believeme.”
“Yes,”mumbledJezal,“ofcourse.”HedoubtedthatWestknewexactlyhow
hefelt.ThemanmighthavebeenthroughacoupleofContestsbefore,butJezal
thoughtitunlikelyhehadbeenconsideringasurreptitiousmeetingwithhisbest
friend’s sister the same night. He wondered whether West would be quite so
considerateifheknewthecontentsoftheletterinJezal’s breastpocket.It did
notseemlikely.
“We’dbettergetmoving.Wouldn’twantthemtostartwithoutus.”
“No.” Jezal took one last deep breath, opened his eyes and blew out hard.
Thenhepushedhimselfawayfromthewallandstroderapidlydownthetunnel.
He felt a sudden surge of panic—where were his steels? He cast about him
desperately,thenbreathedalongsigh.Theywereinhishand.
Therewasquiteacrowdinthehallatthefarend:trainers,seconds,friends,
family members and hangers-on. You could tell who the contestants were,
though; the fifteen young men with steels clutched tightly in their hands. The
sense of fear was palpable, and contagious. Everywhere Jezal looked he saw
pale, nervous faces, sweaty foreheads, anxious eyes darting around. It wasn’t
helped by the noise of the crowd, ominously loud beyond the closed double
doorsatthefarendoftheroom,swellingandsubsidinglikeastormysea.
There was only one man there who didn’t seem at all bothered by the
occasion,leaningagainstthewallonhisownwithonefootupontheplasterand
hisheadtippedback,staringdownhisnoseattheassemblythroughbarelyopen
eyes.Mostofthecontestantswerelithe,stringy,athletic.Hewasanythingbut.A
big,heavymanwithhairshavedtodarkstubble.Hehadagreatthickneckanda
doorstepofajaw—thejawofacommoner,Jezalratherthought,butalargeand
powerful commoner with a mean streak. Jezal might have taken him for
someone’s servant but that he had a pair of steels dangling loosely from one
hand.
“Gorst,”WestwhisperedinJezal’sear.
“Huh.Looksmorelikealabourerthanaswordsmantome.”
“Maybe,butlookscanlie.”Thesoundofthecrowdwasslowlyfading,and
the nervy chatter within the room subsided along with it. West raised his
eyebrows.“TheKing’saddress,”hewhispered.
“My friends! My countrymen! My fellow citizens of the Union!” came a
ringingvoice,clearlyaudibleeventhroughtheheavydoors.
“Hoff,”snortedWest.“EvenherehetakestheKing’splace.Whydoesn’the
justputthecrownonandhavedonewithit?”
“One month ago today,” came the far-off bellow of the Lord Chamberlain,
“fellowsofmineontheClosedCouncilputforwardthequestion…shouldthere
beaContestthisyear?”Boosandshoutsof wilddisapprovalwereheardfrom
thecrowd.“Afairquestion!”criedHoff,“forweareatwar!Adeadlystrugglein
theNorth! Theveryliberties whichwehold sodear,the veryfreedomswhich
make us the envy of the world, our very way of life, stand threatened by the
savage!”
A clerk began making his way around the room, separating the contestants
fromtheirfamilies,theirtrainers,theirfriends.“Goodluck,”saidWest,clapping
Jezal on the shoulder, “I’ll see you out there.” Jezal’s mouth was dry, and he
couldonlynod.
“And these were brave men who asked the question!” Boomed out Hoffs
voicefrombeyondthedoors.“Wisemen!Patriotsall!Mystalwartcolleagueson
the Closed Council! I understood why they might think, there should be no
Contestthisyear!”Therewasalongpause.“ButIsaidtothem,no!”
An eruption of manic cheering. “No! No!” screamed the crowd. Jezal was
ushered into line along with the other contestants, two abreast, eight pairs. He
fussedwithhissteelsastheLordChamberlaindronedon,thoughhe’dchecked
themtwentytimesalready.
“No,Isaidto them!Shouldweallowthesebarbarians,theseanimalsofthe
frozen North, to tread upon our way of life? Should we allow this beacon of
freedomamidstthedarknessoftheworldtobeextinguished?No,Isaidtothem!
Ourlibertyisnotforsaleatanyprice!Onthis,myfriends,mycountrymen,my
fellowcitizensoftheUnion,onthisyoumaydepend…wewillwinthiswar!”
Another great ocean swell of approval. Jezal swallowed, glanced nervously
around.Bremerdan Gorst was standing there beside him.Thebigbastard had
thetemeritytowink,grinningasifhehadn’tacareintheworld.“Damnidiot,”
whisperedJezal,buthetookcarethathislipsdidn’tmove.
“And so, my friends, and so,” came Hoff’s final cries, “what finer occasion
couldtherebethanwhenwestandupontheverybrinkofperil?Tocelebratethe
skill,thestrength,theprowess,ofsomeofournation’sbravestsons!Myfellow
citizens,mycountrymenoftheUnion,Igiveyouyourcontestants!”
Thedoorswereheavedopenandtheroarofthecrowdbeyondrushedintothe
hall and made the rafters ring: suddenly, deafeningly loud. The front pair of
swordsmen began to stride out through the bright archway, then the next pair,
then the next. Jezal was sure he would freeze, motionless and staring like a
rabbit,butwhenhisturncamehisfeetsteppedoffmanfullynexttoGorst’s,the
heelsofhishighlypolishedbootsclickingacrossthetiledfloorandthroughthe
highdoorway.
TheSquareofMarshalswastransformed.Allaround,greatbanksofseating
hadbeenerected,stretchingback,andback,andup,anduponallsides,spilling
overwithaboilingmultitude.Thecontestantsfileddownadeepvalleybetween
thetoweringstandstowardsthecentreofthisgreatarena,thebeams,andstruts,
and tree-trunk supports like a shadowy forest on either side. Directly before
them,seemingveryfaraway,thefencingcirclehadbeenlaid,alittleringofdry
yellowgrassinthemidstofaseaoffaces.
DownnearthefrontJezalcouldmakeoutthefeaturesoftherichandnoble.
Dressed in their best, shading their eyes from the bright sun, on the whole
fashionablydisinterestedinthespectaclebeforethem.Furtherback,higherup,
the figures became less distinct, the clothes less fine. The vastmajority of the
crowd were mere blobs and specks of colour, crammed in around the distant
edgeofthedizzyingbowl,butthecommonersmadeupfortheirdistancewith
theirexcitement:cheering,shouting,standingupontheirtoesandwavingtheir
armsinthe air.Above them, thetopsof the very highestbuildingsaround the
square peered over, walls and roofs sticking up like islands in the ocean, the
windowsandparapetscrammedwithminusculeonlookers.
Jezalblinkedatthisgreatdisplayofhumanity.Partofhimwasawarethathis
mouthwashangingopen,buttoosmallaparttocloseit.Damn,hefeltqueasy.
Heknewhe should haveeatensomething, but itwastoolate now. Whatifhe
puked, right here in front of half the world? He felt that surge of blind panic
again.Wheredidheleavehissteels?Wherewerethey?Inhishand.Inhishand.
Thecrowdroared,andsighed,andwailed,withamyriadofdifferentvoices.
Thecontestantsbegantomoveawayfromthecircle.Notallofthemwouldbe
fighting today, most would only watch. As though there was a need for extra
spectators.Theybegantomaketheirwaytowardsthefrontrows,butJezalwas
notgoingwiththem,morewasthepity.Hemadefortheenclosureswherethe
contestantspreparedtofight.
HefloppeddownheavilynexttoWest,closedhiseyesandwipedhissweaty
forehead as the crowd cheered on. Everything was too bright, too loud, too
overpowering.MarshalVaruzwasnearby,leaningoverthesideoftheenclosure
toshoutinsomeone’sear.Jezalstaredacrossthearenaattheoccupantsofthe
royalboxopposite,hopingvainlyforadistraction.
“His Majesty the King seems to be enjoying the proceedings,” whispered
WestinJezal’sear.
“Mmm.”TheKing,infact,appearedalreadytohavefallensoundlyasleep,his
crownslippingoffatanangle.Jezalwonderedidlywhatwouldhappenifitfell
off.
Crown Prince Ladisla was there, fabulously dressed as always, beaming
around at the arena with an enormous smile as though everyone was there for
him. His younger brother, Prince Raynault, could hardly have looked more
different:plainandsober,frowningworriedlyathissemi-consciousfather.Their
mother, the Queen, sat beside them, bolt upright with her chin in the air,
studiously pretending that her august husband was wide awake, and that his
crown was in no danger of dropping suddenly and painfully into her lap.
BetweenherandLordHoff,Jezal’seyewascaughtbyayoungwoman—very,
verybeautiful.ShewasevenmoreexpensivelydressedthanLadisla,ifthatwas
possible,withachainofhugediamondsroundher neck,flashingbrightinthe
sun.
“Who’sthewoman?”askedJezal.
“Ah, the Princess Terez,” murmured West. “The daughter of Grand Duke
Orso,LordofTalins.She’squitethecelebratedbeauty,andforonceitseemsthat
rumourdoesn’texaggerate.”
“IthoughtnothinggoodevercamefromTalins.”
“SoI’veheard,butIthinkshemightbetheexception,don’tyou?”Jezalwas
notentirelyconvinced.Spectacular,nodoubt,buttherewasanicyproudlookto
her eye. “I think the Queen has it in mind that she marry Prince Ladisla.” As
Jezalwatched,theCrownPrinceleantacrosshismothertofavourthePrincess
withsomewitlessbanter,thenexplodedintolaughterathisownjoke,slapping
hiskneewithmerriment.Shegaveafrostylittlesmile,radiatingcontempteven
atthisdistance.Ladislaseemednottonoticethough,andJezal’sattentionwas
soondistracted.Atall man in a redcoatwasstriding ponderously towards the
circle.Thereferee.
“It’stime,”murmuredWest.
Thereferee held uphisarm withatheatrical flourish,twofingers extended,
and turned slowly around, waiting for the hubbub to subside. “Today you will
havethepleasureofwitnessingtwoboutsoffencing!”hethundered,thenthrust
uphisotherhand,threefingersout,astheaudienceapplauded.“Eachthebestof
threetouches!”Hethrewupbotharms.“Fourmenwillfightbeforeyou!Twoof
themwill gohome…empty handed.”Thereferee letonearm drop,shookhis
head sadly, the crowd sighed. “But two will pass on to the next round!” The
crowdbellowedtheirapproval.
“Ready?”askedMarshalVaruz,leaningforwardsoverJezal’sshoulder.
What a damn fool question. What if he wasn’t ready? What then? Call the
wholethingoff?Sorryeveryone,I’mnotready?Seeyounextyear?ButallJezal
couldsaywas,“Mmm.”
“Thetimehascome!”criedthereferee,turningslowlyaroundinthecentreof
thearena,“forourfirstbout!”
“Jacket!”snappedVaruz.
“Uh.”Jezalrumbledwiththebuttonsandpulledhisjacketoff,rollinguphis
shirt-sleevesmechanically.Heglancedsidewaysandsawhisopponentmaking
similarpreparations.Atall,thinyoungmanwithlongarmsand weak,slightly
dewy eyes. Hardly the most intimidating looking of adversaries. Jezal noticed
hishandsweretremblingslightlyashetookhissteelsfromhissecond.
“TrainedbySeppdanVissen,andhailingfromRostod,inStarikland…”the
refereepausedforthegreatesteffect“…KurtisdanBroya!”Therewasawaveof
enthusiasticclapping.Jezalsnorted.Theseclownswouldclapforanyone.
Thetallyoungmangotupfromhisseatandwalkedpurposefullytowardsthe
circle, his steels flashing in the sunlight. “Broya!” repeated the referee, as the
gangly idiot took his mark. West pulled Jezal’s steels from their sheaths. The
metallicringingofthebladesmadehimwanttobesickagain.
The referee pointed once more towards the contestant’s enclosure. “And his
opponenttoday!AnofficeroftheKing’sOwn,andtrainedbynoneotherthan
LordMarshalVaruz!”Therewasscatteredapplauseandtheoldsoldierbeamed
happily.“HailingfromLutharinMidderlandbutresidenthereintheAgriont…
CaptainJezaldanLuthar!”Anothersurgeofcheering,farlouderthanBroyahad
received. There was a flurry of sharp cries above the din. Shouted numbers.
Oddsbeingoffered.Jezalfeltanotherrushofnauseaashegotslowlytohisfeet.
“Goodluck.”WesthandedJezalhisnakedsteels,hiltsfirst.
“Hedoesn’tneedluck!”snappedVaruz.“ThisBroya’sanobody!Justwatch
hisreach!Presshim,Jezal,presshim!”
Itseemedtotakeforevertoreachthatringofshortdrygrass,thesoundofthe
crowdloudinJezal’searsbutthesoundofhisheartlouderstill,turningthegrips
ofhissteelsroundandroundinhissweatypalms.“Luthar!”repeatedthereferee,
smilingwideashewatchedJezalapproach.
Pointless and irrelevant questions flitted in and out of his mind. Was Ardee
watching, in the crowd, wondering whether he would come to meet her that
night?Wouldhegetkilledinthewar?Howdidtheygetthegrassforthefencing
circleintotheSquareofMarshals?HeglancedupatBroya.Washefeelingthe
same way? The crowd was quiet now, very quiet. The weight of the silence
presseddownonJezalashetookhismarkinthecircle,pushedhisfeetintothe
dryearth.Broyashruggedhisshoulders,shookhishead,raisedhissteels.Jezal
neededtopiss.Neededtopisssobadly.Whatifhepissedhimselfrightnow?A
bigdarkstainspreadingacrosshistrousers.Themanwhopissedhimselfatthe
Contest.Hewouldneverliveitdown,notifhelivedahundredyears.
“Begin!”thunderedthereferee.
Butnothinghappened.Thetwomenstoodthere,facingeachother,steelsat
the ready. Jezal’s eyebrow itched. He wanted to scratch it, but how? His
opponentlickedhislips,thentookacautioussteptohisleft.Jezaldidthesame.
Theycircledeachotherwarily,shoescrunchinggentlyonthedrygrass:slowly,
slowly drawing closer together. And as they came closer, Jezal’s world
contractedtothespacebetweenthepointsoftheirlongsteels.Nowitwasonlya
stride. Now it was a foot. Now just six inches separated them. Jezal’s whole
mind was focused on those two glittering points. Three inches. Broya jabbed
forward,weakly,andJezalflickeditawaywithoutthinking.
Thebladesranggentlytogetherand,asthoughthatwereasignalprearranged
witheverypersoninthearena,theshoutingbeganagain,scatteredcallstobegin
with:
“Killhim,Luthar!”
“Yes!”
“Jab!Jab!”
But soon dissolving once more into the rumbling, angry sea of the crowd,
risingandfallingwiththemovementsinthecircle.
ThemoreJezalsawofthislankyidiot,thelessdauntedhebecame.Hisnerves
began to subside. Broya jabbed, clumsy, and Jezal barely had to move. Broya
cut, without conviction, and Jezal parried, without effort. Broya lunged,
positively inept, off-balance and overextended. Jezal stepped around it and
jabbedhisopponentintheribswiththebluntpointofhislongsteel.Itwasallso
veryeasy.
“One for Luthar!” cried the referee, and a surge of cheering ran around the
stands.Jezalsmiledtohimself,baskingintheappreciationofthecrowd.Varuz
hadbeenright,thisboobwasnothingtoworryabout.Onemoretouchandhe’d
bethroughtothenextround.
He returned to his mark and Broya did the same, rubbing his ribs with one
hand and staring at Jezal balefully from beneath his brows. Jezal was not
intimidated.Angrylooksareonlyanyuseifyoucanfightworthadamn.
“Begin!”
Theyclosedquicklythistime,andexchangedacutortwo.
Jezalcouldhardlybelievehowslowlyhisopponentwasmoving,itwasasif
hisswordsweighedatoneach.Broyafishedaroundintheairwithhislongsteel,
tryingtousehisreachtopinJezaldown.Hehadbarelyusedhisshortsteelyet,
letalonecoordinatedthetwo.Worsestill,hewasstartingtolookoutofbreath,
andthey’dbarelybeenfencingtwominutes.Hadhetrainedatall,thisbumpkin?
Orhadtheysimplymadeupthenumberswithsomeservantoffthestreet?Jezal
jumpedaway,dancedaroundhisopponent.Broyaflappedafterhim,doggedbut
incompetent. It was starting to become embarrassing. Nobody enjoys a
mismatch, and this dunce’s clumsiness was denying Jezal the opportunity to
shine.
“Oh come on!” he shouted. A surge of laughter flowed around the stands.
Broyagrittedhisteethandcameonwitheverythinghehad,butitwasn’tmuch.
Jezal swatted his feeble efforts aside, dodged around them, flowed across the
circle while his witless opponent lumbered after, always three steps behind.
Therewasnoprecision,nospeed,nothought.Afewminutesbefore,Jezalhad
been half-terrified by the prospect of fencing with this gangling fool. Now he
wasalmostbored.
“Hah!” he cried, switching suddenly onto the attack, catching his opponent
off-balance with a savage cut, sending him stumbling back. The crowd came
alive, roaring their support. He jabbed and jabbed again. Broya blocked
desperately,alloff-balance,reeledbackwards,parriedonelasttimethentripped,
hisarmsflailing,shortsteelflyingoutofhishand,andpitchedoutofthecircle
ontohisarse.
Therewasawaveoflaughter,andJezalcouldnothelpbutjoinin.Thepoor
doltlookedquiteamusing,knockedonhisbackwithhislegsintheairlikesome
sortofturtle.
“Captain Luthar wins!” roared the referee, “two to nothing!” The laughter
turnedtojeeringasBroyarolledover.Helookedonthevergeoftears,theoaf.
Jezalsteppedforwardsandofferedhishand,butfoundhimselfunabletoentirely
wipe the smirk off his face. His beaten adversary pointedly ignored his help,
pushinghimselfupfromthegroundandgivinghimalookhalfhating,halfhurt.
Jezalshruggedpleasantly.“It’snotmyfaultyou’reshit.”
“More?”askedKaspa,holding outthe bottlein awobbly hand,eyes misted
overwithtoomuchbooze.
“Nothanks.”JezalpushedthebottlegentlyawaybeforeKaspahadthechance
to pour. He looked blearily bewildered for a moment, then he turned to
Jalenhorm.
“More?”
“Always.”Thebigmanslidhisglassacrosstheroughtabletopinawaythat
said,“Iamnotdrunk”,thoughheclearlywas.Kaspaloweredthebottletowards
it,squintingattheglassasthoughitwasagreatdistanceaway.Jezalwatchedthe
neckofthebottlewobblingintheair,thenrattlingontheedgeoftheglass.The
inevitabilityofitwasalmostpainfultobehold.Winespilledoutacrossthetable,
splashingintoJalenhorm’slap.
“You’redrunk!”complainedthebigman,staggeringtohisfeetandbrushing
athimselfwithbig,drunkenhands,knockinghisstooloverintheprocess.Afew
oftheotherpatronseyedtheirtablewithevidentdisdain.
“Alwaysh,”giggledKaspa.
Westlookedupbrieflyfromhisglass.“You’rebothdrunk.”
“Not our fault.” Jalenhorm groped for his stool. “It’s him!” He pointed an
unsteadyfingeratJezal.
“He won!” gurgled Kaspa. “You won, didn’t you, and now we got to
celebrate!”
Jezal wished they didn’t have to celebrate quite so much. It was becoming
embarrassing.
“My cousin Ariss wa’ there—saw whole thing. She was ver’ impressed.”
Kaspa flung his arm round Jezal’s shoulder. “Think she’s quite shmitten with
you…shmitten…shmitten.”HeworkedhiswetlipsinJezal’sface,tryingtoget
his mouth round the word. “She’s ver’ rich you know, ver’ rich indeed.
Shmitten.”
Jezal wrinkled his nose. He had not the slightest interest in that ghostly
simpletonofacousin,howeverrichshewas,andKaspa’sbreathstank.“Good…
lovely”HedisentangledhimselffromtheLieutenantandshovedhimaway,none
toogently.
“So,whenarewestartingonthisbusinessintheNorth?”demandedBrint,a
littletooloud,asthoughheforonecouldn’twaittogetunderway.“SoonIhope,
homebeforewinter,eh,Major?”
“Huh,”snortedWest,frowningtohimself,“we’llbeluckytohaveleftbefore
winter,theratewe’regoing.”
Brintlooked alittletaken aback.“Well,I’msure we’ll givethese savages a
thrashing,wheneverwegetthere.”
“Give’emathrashing!”criedKaspa.
“Aye.”Jalenhormnoddedhisagreement.
Westwasnotinthemood.“Iwouldn’tbetoosureaboutthat.Haveyouseen
the state of some of these levies? They can hardly walk, let alone fight. It’s a
disgrace.”
Jalenhorm dismissed all this with an angry wave of his hand. “They’re
nothingbutfuckingsavages,thelotof’em!We’llknock’emontheirarses,like
Jezaldidthatidiottoday,eh,Jezal?Homebeforewinter,everyonesaysso!”
“Do you know the land up there?” asked West, leaning across the table.
“Forests, mountains, rivers, on and on. Precious little open space to fight in,
preciousfewroadstomarchon.You’vegottocatchamanbeforethethrashing
canstart.Homebeforewinter?Nextwinter,maybe,ifwecomebackatall.”
Brint’seyeswerewideopenandhorrified.“Youcan’tmeanthat!”
“No… no, you’re right.” West sighed and shook himself. “I’m sure it’ll all
turn out fine. Glory and promotions all round. Home before winter. I’d take a
coatwithyouthough,justincase.”
Anuneasysilencedescendedonthegroup.Westhadthathardfrownonhis
facethathegotsometimes,thefrownthatsaidthey’dgetnomorefunoutofhim
tonight.BrintandJalenhormlookedpuzzledandsurly.OnlyKaspamaintained
hisgoodhumour,andhewaslollingbackinhischair,eyeshalfclosed,blissfully
unawareofhissurroundings.
Somecelebration.
Jezal himself felt tired, annoyed, and worried. Worried about the Contest,
worriedaboutthewar…worriedaboutArdee.Theletterwasstillthere,folded
upinhispocket.HeglancedsidelongatWest,thenquicklyaway.Damn,hefelt
guilty.Hehadneverreallyfeltguiltybefore,andhedidn’tlikeitonebit.Ifhe
didn’tmeether,hewouldfeelguiltyforleavingheronherown.Ifhedid,he’d
feelguiltyforbreakinghiswordtoWest.Itwasadilemmaalright.Jezalchewed
athisthumb-nail.Whatthehellwasitaboutthisdamnfamily?
“Well,”saidWestsharply,“Ihavetobegoing.Earlystarttomorrow.”
“Mmm,”mutteredBrint.
“Right,”saidJalenhorm.
WestlookedJezalrightintheeye.“CanIhaveaword?”Hisexpressionwas
serious, grave, angry even. Jezal’s heart lurched. What if West had found out
about the letter? What if Ardee had told him? The Major turned away, moved
over towards a quiet corner. Jezal stared around, desperately seeking for some
wayout.
“Jezal!”calledWest.
“Yes, yes.” He got up with the greatest reluctance and followed his friend,
flashing what he hoped was an innocent-seeming smile. Perhaps it was
somethingelse.NothingtodowithArdee.Pleaseletitbesomethingelse.
“Idon’twantanyoneelsetoknowaboutthis…”Westlookedroundtomake
surenoone waswatching.Jezal swallowed.Anymomentnowhewould geta
punch in the face. At least one. He had never been punched in the face, not
properly.Agirlslappedhimprettyhardonce,butthatwashardlythesame.He
preparedhimselfasbesthecould,grittinghisteeth,wincingslightly.“Burrhas
setadate.We’vegotfourweeks.”
Jezalstaredback.“What?”
“Untilweembark.”
“Embark?”
“ForAngland,Jezal!”
“Oh,yes…Angland,ofcourse!Fourweeksyousay?”
“Ithoughtyouought toknow, sinceyou’re busywiththeContest,soyou’d
havetimetogetready.Keepittoyourself,though.”
“Yes,ofcourse.”Jezalwipedhissweatyforehead.
“Youalright?Youlookpale.”
“I’mfine,fine.”Hetookadeepbreath.“Allthisexcitement,youknow,the
fencingand…everything.”
“Don’t worry, you did well today.” West clapped him on the shoulder. “But
there’s a lot more to do. Three more bouts before you can call yourself a
champion,andthey’llonlygetharder.Don’tgetlazy,Jezal—anddon’tgettoo
drunk!”hethrewoverhisshoulderashemadeforthedoor.Jezalbreathedalong
sighofreliefashereturnedtothetablewheretheothersweresitting.Hisnose
wasstillintact.
Brint had already started to complain, now he could see that West wasn’t
comingback.“Whatthehellwasallthat?”heasked,frowningandjabbinghis
thumbatthedoor.“Imeantosay,well,Iknowhe’ssupposedtobethebighero
andallofthatbut,well,Imeantosay!”
Jezalstareddownathim.“Whatdoyoumeantosay?”
“Well,totalkthatway!It’s,it’sdefeatist!”Thedrinkwaslendinghimcourage
now, and he was warming to his topic. “It’s… well, I mean to say… it’s
cowardlytalkiswhatitis!”
“Now, look here, Brint,” snapped Jezal, “he fought in three pitched battles,
andhewasfirstthroughthebreachatUlrioch!Hemaynotbeanobleman,but
he’s a damn courageous fellow! Added to that he knows soldiering, he knows
MarshalBurr,andheknowsAngland!Whatdoyouknow,Brint?”Jezalcurled
hislip.“Excepthowtoloseatcardsandemptyawinebottle?”
“That’sallamanneedstoknowinmybook,”laughedJalenhormnervously,
doing his best to calm the situation. “More wine!” he bellowed at no one in
particular.
Jezal dropped down on his stool. If the company had been subdued before
Westleft,itwasevenmoresonow.Brintwassulking.Jalenhormwasswaying
onhisstool.Kaspahadfallensoundlyasleep,sprawledoutonthewettabletop,
hisbreathingmakingquietslurpingsounds.
Jezal drained his wine glass, and stared round at the unpromising faces.
Damn,hewasbored.Itwasafact,hewasonlynowbeginningtorealise,thatthe
conversationofthedrunkisonlyinterestingtothedrunk.Afewglassesofwine
can be the difference between finding a man a hilarious companion or an
insufferablemoron.HewonderedifhehimselfwasastediousdrunkasKaspa,
orJalenhorm,orBrint.
Jezal gave a thin smile as he looked over at the sulking bastard. If he were
King, he mused, he would punish poor conversation with death, or at least a
lengthyprisonterm.Hestoodupfromhischair.
Jalenhormstaredupathim.“Whatyoudoing?”
“Better get some rest,” snapped Jezal, “need to train tomorrow.” It was the
mosthecoulddonottojustrunoutoftheplace.
“Butyouwon!Ain’tyougoingtocelebrate?”
“Firstround. I’ve still threemoremen to beat, andthey’llall be better than
thatoaftoday.”Jezaltookhiscoatfromthebackofthechairandpulleditover
hisshoulders.
“Sultself,”saidJalenhorm,thenslurpednoisilyfromhisglass.
Kasparaisedhisheadfromthetableforamoment,hairononesideplastered
tohisskullwithspilledwine.“Goingshoshoon?”
“Mmm,”saidJezalasheturnedandstalkedout.
There was a cold wind blowing in the street outside. It made him feel even
more sober than before. Painfully sober. He badly needed some intelligent
company,butwherecouldhefinditatthistimeofnight?Therewasonlyone
placehecouldthinkof.
He slipped the letter out of his pocket and read it in the dim light from the
tavern’swindows,justonemoretime.Ifhehurriedhemightstillcatchher.He
began to walk slowly towards the Four Corners. Just to talk, that was all. He
neededsomeonetotalkto…
No.Heforcedhimselftostop.Couldhetrulypretendthathewantedtobeher
friend?Afriendshipbetweenamanandawomanwaswhatyoucalleditwhen
onehadbeenpursuingtheotherforalongtime,andhadnevergotanywhere.He
hadnointerestinthatarrangement.
Whatthen?Marriage?Toagirlwithnobloodand nomoney? Unthinkable!
He imagined bringing Ardee home to meet his family. Here is my new wife,
father!Wife?Andherconnectionsare?Heshudderedatthethought.
Butwhatiftheycouldfindsomethinginbetween,whereeveryonewouldbe
comfortable?Hisfeetbeganslowlytomove.Notfriendship,notmarriage,but
somelooser arrangement? Hestrodedown the roadtowardsthe Four Corners.
Theycouldmeetdiscreetly,andtalk,andlaugh,somewherewithabedmaybe…
No.No.Jezalstoppedagainandslappedthesideofhisheadinfrustration.He
couldn’t let that happen, even supposing she would. West was one thing, but
whatifotherpeoplefoundout?Itwouldn’thurthisreputationany,ofcourse,but
herswouldberuined.Ruined.Hisfleshcreptatthethought.Shedidn’tdeserve
that,surely.Itwasn’tgoodenoughtosayitwasherproblem.Notgoodenough.
Justsohe couldhavealittlefun?The selfishnessofit.Hewasamazedthatit
hadneveroccurredtohimbefore.
Sohehadreasonedhimselfintoacornerthen,justashehaddonetentimes
alreadytoday:nothinggoodcouldcomefromseeingher.Theywouldbeawayto
warsoonanyway,andthatwouldputanendtohisridiculouspining.Hometo
bed then, and train all day tomorrow. Train and train until Marshal Varuz had
batteredher outofhis thoughts. Hetook a deepbreath,squared hisshoulders,
turnedandsetofftowardstheAgriont.
ThestatueofHarodtheGreatloomedoutofthedarknessonamarbleplinth
almostas tallasJezal, seemingfar toobigand grandforits quietlittle square
near the Four Corners. He had been jumping at shadows all the way here,
avoidingpeople,doinghisbesttobeinconspicuous.Thereweren’tmanypeople
aroundthough.Itwaslate,andmostlikelyArdeewouldhavegivenupwaitinga
longtimeago,providedshewaseventheretobeginwith.
He crept nervously around the statue, peering into the shadows, feeling an
absolutefool.Hehadwalkedthroughthissquaremanytimesbeforeandnever
givenitasecondthought.Wasitnotapublicspaceafterall?Hehadasmuch
rightasanyonetobehere,butsomehowhestillfeltlikeathief.
The square was empty. That was a good thing. All for the best. There was
nothing to gain, everything to lose, and so forth. So why did he feel so
completelycrushed?HestaredupatHarod’sface,lockedintothatstonyfrown
thatsculptorsreserveforthetrulygreat.Hehadafine,strongjaw,didHarod,
almosttheequalofJezal’sown.
“Wake up!” hissed a voice by his ear. Jezal let vent to a girlish squeal,
scrambled away, tripped, only stayed upright by clawing at King Harod’s
enormousfoot.Therewasadarkfigurebehindhim,ahoodedfigure.
Laughter.“Noneedtopissyourself.”Ardee.Shepushedbackherhood.Light
fromawindowslantedacrossthebottompartofherface,catchingherlop-sided
smile.“It’sonlyme.”
“I didn’t see you,” he mumbled pointlessly, quickly releasing his desperate
griponthehugestonefootanddoinghisbesttoappearatease.Hehadtoadmit
itwasapoor start.He hadno talentfor thiscloak-and-dagger business.Ardee
seemedquitecomfortable,though.Itmadehimwonderwhethershehadn’tdone
itallbefore.
“You’vebeenprettyhardtoseeyourself,lately,”shesaid.
“Well,er,”hemuttered,heartstillthumpingfromtheshock,“I’vebeenbusy,
whatwiththeContestandall…”
“Ah,theall-importantContest.Isawyoufighttoday.”
“Youdid?”
“Veryimpressive.”
“Er,thankyou,I—”
“Mybrothersaidsomething,didn’the?”
“What,aboutfencing?”
“No,numbskull.Aboutme.”
Jezalpaused,tryingtoworkoutthebestwaytoanswerthatone.“Wellhe—”
“Areyouscaredofhim?”
“No!”Silence.“Alright,yes.”
“Butyoucameanyway.IsupposeIshouldbeflattered.”Shewalkedslowly
around him, looking him up and down, from feet to forehead and back again.
“Youtookyourtime,though.It’slate.I’llhavetobegettinghomesoon.”
There was something about the way she was looking at him which was not
helpingtocalmhisthumpingheart.Quitetheopposite.Hehadtotellherthathe
could not see her any more. It was the wrong thing to do. For both of them.
Nothinggoodcouldcomefromit…nothinggood…
Hewasbreathingquick,tense,excited,unabletotakehiseyesawayfromher
shadowyface.Hehadtotellher,now.Wasn’tthatwhyhecame?Heopenedhis
mouthtospeak,buttheargumentsallseemedalongwayawaynow,applyingat
adifferenttimeandtodifferentpeople,intangibleandweightless.
“Ardee…”hebegan.
“Mmm?” She stepped towards him, head cocked on one side. Jezal tried to
move away, but the statue was at his back. She came closer still, lips slightly
parted,hereyesfixedonhismouth.Whatwassowronginit,anyway?
Closerstill,herfaceturneduptowardshis.Hecouldsmellher—hisheadwas
fullofthescentofher.Hecouldfeelherwarmbreathonhischeek.Whatcould
bewrongwiththis?
Herfingertipswerecoldagainsthisskin,brushingthesideofhisface,tracing
thelineofhisjaw,curlingthroughhishairandpullinghisheaddowntowards
her. Her lips touched his cheek, soft and warm, then his chin, then his mouth.
They sucked gently at his. She pressed herself up against him, her other hand
slippedroundhisback.Hertonguelappedathisgums,athisteeth,athistongue,
and she made little sounds in her throat. So did he, perhaps—he really wasn’t
sure. His whole body was tingling, hot and cold at once, his mind was in his
mouth.Itwasasifhe’d neverkisseda girlbefore.What couldbewrongwith
this?Herteethnippedathislips,almostpainful,butnotquite.
Heopenedhiseyes:breathless,trembling,weakattheknees.Shewaslooking
up at him. He could see her eyes gleaming in the darkness, watching him
carefully,studyinghim.
“Ardee…”
“What?”
“When can I see you again?” His throat was dry, his voice sounded hoarse.
Shelookeddownatthegroundwithalittlesmile.Acruelsmile,asthoughshe’d
calledhisbluffandwonapileofmoneyfromhim.Hedidn’tcare.“When?”
“Oh,I’llletyouknow.”
Hehadtokissheragain.Shitontheconsequences.FuckWest.Damnitall.
Hebentdowntowardsher,closedhiseyes.
“No,no,no.”Shepushedhismouthawayfromhers.“Youshouldhavecome
sooner.”Shebrokeawayfromhimandturnedaround,withthesmilestillonher
lips, and walked slowly away. He watched her, silent, frozen, fascinated, his
backagainstthecoldstonebaseofthestatue.Hehadneverfeltlikethisbefore.
Notever.
Sheglancedback,justonce,asiftocheckthathewasstillwatching.Hischest
constricted, almost painfully, just to see her look at him, then she rounded a
cornerandwasgone.
Hestoodthereforamoment,hiseyeswideopen,justbreathing.Thenacold
gustofwindblewthroughthesquareandtheworldpressedbackinuponhim.
Fencing, the war, his friend West, his obligations. One kiss, that was all. One
kiss,andhisresolvehadleakedawaylikepissfromabrokenchamberpot.He
staredaround,suddenlyguilty,confused,andscared.Whathadhedonehere?
“Shit,”hesaid.
DarkWork
A burning thing can make all kind of smells. A live tree, fresh and sappy,
smellsdifferentablazetoadeadone,dryandwithered.Apigalightandaman
smell much the same, but there’s another story. This burning that the Dogman
smellednow,thatwasahouse.Heknewit,sureassure.Asmellheknewbetter
thanhe’dhaveliked.Housesdon’tburnontheirowntoooften.Usuallythere’s
someviolenceinit.Thatmeantmenaround,mostlikely,andreadyforafight,
sohe creptrightcareful downbetweenthetrees,slid onhisbelly totheedge,
andpeeredoutthroughthebrush.
Hesawitnow,rightenough.Blacksmokeinatallpillar,risingupfromaspot
downneartheriver.Asmallhouse,stillsmoking,butburneddowntothelow
stonewalls.There’dbeenabarntoo,butnothingmorenowthanapileofblack
sticksandblackdirt.Acoupleoftreesandapatchoftilledearth.Itwasapoor
enoughlivingatthebestoftimes,farmingthisfarnorth.Toocoldtogrowmuch
—afewrootsmaybe,andsomesheeptoherd.Apigortwo,ifyouwerelucky.
Dogmanshookhishead.Who’dwanttoburnoutfolksaspoorasthis?Who’d
want to steal this stubborn patch of land? Some men just like to burn, he
reckoned.Heeasedoutatouchfurther,lookingrightandleftdownthevalleyfor
somesignoftheonesasdidthis,butafewstringysheepspreadoutacrossthe
valleysideswasallhecouldseemoving.Hewriggledbackintothebrush.
His heart sank as he sneaked back towards the camp. Voices raised, and
arguing,asever.Hewonderedforaminutewhethertojustgopastandkeepon
going,hewasthatsickoftheendlessbickering.Hedecidedagainstitintheend,
though.Itain’tmuchofascoutwholeaveshispeoplebehind.
“Why don’t you shut your hole, Dow?” Tul Duru’s rumbling voice. “You
wanted south, and when we went south all you did was moan about the
mountains!Nowwe’reouto’themountainsyougrumbleon youremptybelly
alldayandallnight!I’vehadmyfillofit,youwhiningdog!”
NowcameBlackDow’snastygrowl.“Whyshouldyougettwiceasmuchto
eat,just’causeyou’reagreatfatpig?”
“Youlittlebastard!I’llcrushyoulikethewormy’are!”
“I’llcutyourneckwhileyousleepyougreatpileo’meat!Thenwe’llallhave
plentytoeat!Atleastwe’dallberidofyourfuckingsnoring!Iknownowwhy
theynamedyouThunderhead,yourumblingsow!”
“Shut your holes the pair of you!” Dogman heard Threetrees roaring, loud
enoughtowakethedead.“I’msickofit!”
Hecouldseethemnow,thefiveofthem.TulDuruandBlackDow,bristling
up to one another, Threetrees in between them with his hands up, Forley sat
watching,justlookingsad,andGrim,notevenwatching,checkinghisshafts.
“Oy!”hissedDogman,andtheyallsnappedroundtolookathim.
“It’stheDogman,”saidGrim,barelylookingupfromhisarrows.Therewas
nounderstandingthatman.Hespokenothingatallfordaysonend,thenwhen
hedidspeakitwastosaywhattheycouldallseealready.
Forleywaskeentodistractthelads,asalways.Itwasahardguesshowlong
they’d keep from killing each other without him around. “What did you find,
Dogman?”heasked.
“Whatdoyouknow,Ifoundfivestupidfuckingbastardsoutinthewoods!”
hehissed,steppingoutfromthetrees.“Icouldhearthemfromamileaway!And
theywereNamedMenthese,wouldyoubelieve,menwhoshouldhaveknown
better!Fightingamongthemselvesasalways!Fivestupidbastards—”
Threetreesraisedhishand.“Alright,Dogman.Weshouldknowbetter.”And
hegloweredatTulandDow.Theygloweredateachother,buttheysaidnothing
more.“Whatdidyoufind?”
“There’s fighting going on hereabouts, or something like it. I seen a farm
burning.”
“Burning,sayyou?”askedTul.
“Aye.”
Threetreesfrowned.“Takeustoit,then.”
TheDogmanhadn’tseenthisfromupinthetrees.Couldn’thave.Toosmoky
andtoofar toseethis. Hesawitnowthough,rightupclose,anditmadehim
sick.Theyallsawit.
“This is some dark work here alright,” said Forley, looking up at the tree.
“Somedarkwork.”
“Aye,”mumbledDogman.Hecouldn’tthinkofoughtelsetosay.Thebranch
creaked as the old man swung slowly round, his bare feet dangling near the
earth.Mighthavebeenhetriedtofight,he’dgottwoarrowsthroughhim.The
woman was too young to be his wife. His daughter, maybe. The Dogman
guessed the two young ones were her children. “Who’d hang a child?” he
muttered.
“Icanthinkofsomeblackenough,”saidTul.
Dowspatonthegrass.“Meaningme?”hegrowled,andthetwoof’emwere
offagainlikehammeronanvil.“Iburnedsomefarms,andavillageortwoan
all,buttherewerereasons,thatwaswar.Iletthechildrenlive.”
“Ihearddifferent,”saidTul.Dogmanclosedhiseyesandsighed.
“YouthinkIgiveadog’sarseforwhatyouheard?”Dowbarked.“Mightbe
myname’sblackerthanIdeserve,yougiantshit!”
“Iknowwhatyoudeserve,youbastard!”
“Enough!” growled Threetrees, frowning up at the tree. “Have you no
respect? The Dogman’s right. We’re out of the mountains now and there’s
trouble brewing. There’ll be no more of this squabbling. No more. Quiet and
coldfromnowon,likethewinter-time.We’reNamedMenwithmen’sworkto
do.”
Dogmannodded,happytohearsomesenseatlast.“There’sfightingnearby,”
hesaid,“therehastobe.”
“Uh,”saidGrim,thoughitwashardtosayexactlywhathewasagreeingwith.
Threetrees’eyewasstillfixedontheswingingbodies.“You’reright.Weneed
toputourmindsonthatnow.Onthatandnothingelse.We’lltrackthecrowdas
didthisandseewhatthey’refightingfor.We’lldonogooduntilweknowwho’s
fightingwho.”
“Whoever did this fights for Bethod,” said Dow. “You can tell just by the
looking.”
“We’ll see. Tul and Dow, cut these folks down and bury ’em. Maybe that
task’llputsomesteelbackinyou.”Thetwoofthemscowledateachother,but
Threetreespaid’emnomind.“Dogman,yougoandsniffoutthoseasdidthis.
Sniff’emout,andwe’llpay’emavisittonight.Avisitliketheypaidtothese
folkshere.”
“Aye,”saidDogman,keentogetonanddoit.“We’llpay’emavisit.”
TheDogmancouldn’tworkitout.Iftheywereinafighttheselot,afraidof
being caught out by an enemy, they weren’t making too much of an effort to
cover their tracks. He followed them simple as could be, five of them he
reckoned. Must’ve strolled nice and easy away from the burning farm, down
throughthevalley beside theriverandoffinto the woods. Thetrackswere so
clear he got a little worried time to time, thinking they must be playing some
trickonhim,watchingoutthereinthetrees,waitingtohanghimfromabranch.
Seemedtheyweren’tthough,’causehecaughtuptothemjustbeforenightfall.
Firstofallhesmelledtheirmeat—muttonroasting.Nextheheardtheirvoices
—talking,shouting,laughing,makingnotthemeanestattempttostayquiet,easy
tohearevenwiththeriverbubblingbeside.Thenhesawthem,sittingrounda
great big fire in a clearing, a sheep’s carcass skinned on a spit above it, taken
fromthose farmers nodoubt.The Dogmancroucheddown in thebushes, nice
and still like they should have been. He counted five men, or four and a boy
about fourteen years. They were all just sitting, no one standing guard, no
cautionatall.Hecouldn’tworkitout.
“They’re just sitting there,” he whispered when he got back to the others.
“Justsitting.Noguard,nonothing.”
“Justsitting?”askedForley.
“Aye.Fiveof’em.Sittingandlaughing.Idon’tlikeit.”
“Idon’tlikeitneither,”saidThreetrees,“butIlikewhatIsawatthatfarmstill
less.”
“Weapons,”hissedDow.“Weapons,ithastobe.”
Foronce,Tulagreedwithhim.“Weapons,chief.Let’sgive’emalesson.”
NotevenForleyspokeupforstayingoutofafightthistime,butThreetrees
thought it out for a bit still, taking his moment, not to be hurried. Then he
nodded.“Weaponsitis.”
You won’tseeBlackDow in thedark,not if hedon’twantto be seen.You
won’t hear him neither, but the Dogman knew he was there as he crept down
through the trees. You fight with a man for long enough, you get an
understanding. You learn how he thinks and you come to think the same way.
Dowwasthere.
TheDogmanhadhistask.Hecouldseetheoutlineoftheoneonthefarright,
hisbackablackshapeagainstthefire.Dogmandidn’tsparetoomuchthought
for the others yet. He spared no thought for anything but his task. Once you
choosetogo,oryourchiefchoosesforyou,yougoalltheway,andneverlook
back ’til the task’s done. The time you spend thinking is the time you’ll get
killedin.Logentaughthimthatandhe’dtakenitrighttoheart.That’sthewayit
hastobe.
Dogman crept closer, and closer still, feeling the warmth of the fire on his
face,feelingthehardmetaloftheknifeinhishand.Bythedeadheneededto
piss,asalways.Thetaskwasn’tbutastrideawaynow.Theboywasfacinghim
—ifhe’dhavelookedupfastfromhismeathe’dhaveseentheDogmancoming,
buthewastoobusyeating.
“Gurgh!”shoutedone oftheothers. ThatmeantDow’dgottohim,andthat
meanthewasfinished.Dogmanleapedforwardandstabbedhistaskintheside
of the neck. He reared up for a moment, clutching at his cut throat, took a
stumbleforwardandfellover.Oneoftheothersjumpedup,droppinghishalf-
chewedlegofmuttonontheground,thenanarrowstuckhimthroughthechest.
Grim,outbytheriver.Helookedsurprisedaminute,thenhesankdownonhis
knees,facetwistedupwithpain.
Thatleftbuttwo,andtheboywasstillsittingthere,staringat theDogman,
mouthhalfopenwithabitofmeathangingoutofit.Thelastofthemwasstood
up,breathingquick,withalongknifeinhishand.Hemusthavehaditoutfor
eatingwith.
“Drop the blade!” bellowed Threetrees. The Dogman saw the old boy now,
striding towards them, the firelight catching the metal rim of his big round
shield.Themanchewedonhislip,eyesflickingfromDogmantoDowasthey
movedslowlytoeithersideofhim.NowhesawtheThunderhead,loomingout
ofthedarknessinthetrees,seemingtoobigtobeaman,hisgreathugesword
glintingoverhisshoulder.Thatwasenoughforhim.Hethrewhisknifedownin
thedirt.
Dowjumpedforward,grabbedhiswristsandtiedthemtightbehindhim,then
shovedhimdownonhiskneesbesidethefire.TheDogmandidthesamewith
theboy,histeethclenchedtight,notsayingaword.Thewholethingwasdonein
an instant, quiet and cold like Threetrees said. There was blood on Dogman’s
hands, but that was the work and couldn’t be helped. The others were making
their way over now. Grim came sloshing through the river, throwing his bow
acrosshisshoulder.Hegavetheoneheshotakickashecamepast,butthebody
didn’tmove.
“Dead,”saidGrim.Forleywasattheback,peeringatthetwoprisoners.Dow
wasstaringattheonehe’dtied,staringathimhard.
“Iknowthisone’ere,”hesaid,soundingquitepleasedaboutittoo.“Groathe
Mire,ain’tit?Whatachance!You’vebeengnawingatthebackofmymindfor
sometime.”
The Mire scowled down at the ground. A cruel-looking sort, the Dogman
thought,thetypethatmighthangfarmers,iftherewasone.“Aye,I’mtheMire.
Noneed toaskyour names!Whenthey findyou’vekilled someo’ theKing’s
collectorsyou’llbedeadmenall!”
“BlackDow,theycallme.”
TheMire’sheadcameup,hismouthwideopen.“Ohfuck,”hewhispered.
Theboykneelingnexttohimstaredroundwithbigeyes.“BlackDow?You
what?NotthesameBlackDowas…ohfuck.”
Dow nodded slowly, with that nasty smile spreading across his face, that
killingsmile.“GroatheMire.You’veallkindofworktopayfor.I’vehadyouin
mymind,andnowyou’reinmyeye.”Hepattedhimonthecheek.“Andinmy
handtoo.Whatahappychance.”
TheMiresnatchedhisfaceaway,asfarashecould,trusseduplikehewas.“I
thoughtyouwereinhell,BlackDow,youbastard!”
“So did I, but I was only north o’ the mountains. We’ve questions for you,
Mire,beforeyougetwhat’sdue.Who’sthisking?Whatisityou’recollecting
forhim?”
“Fuckyourquestions!”
Threetrees hit him on the side of his head, hard, where he couldn’t see it
coming. When he turned round to look, Dow cracked him on the other side.
Backandforthhisheadwent,tillhewassoftenoughtotalk.
“What’sthefight?”askedThreetrees.
“We ain’t fighting!” spat the Mire through his broken teeth. “You might as
wellbedead,youbastards!Youdon’tknowwhat’shappened,doyer?”Dogman
frowned.Hedidn’tlikethesoundofthis.Soundedlikethingshadchangedwhile
theyweregone,andhe’dneveryetseenachangeforthebetter.
“I’lldothequestionshere,”saidThreetrees.“Youjustkeepyourtinymindon
theanswersto’em.Who’sstillfighting?Whowon’tkneeltoBethod?”
The Mire laughed, even tied up like he was. “There’s no one left! The
fighting’sover!Bethod’sKingnow.KingofalltheNorth!Everyonekneelsto
him—”
“Notus,”rumbledTulDuru,leaningdown.“WhataboutOldManYawl?”
“Dead!”
“WhataboutSything,orRattleneck?”
“Dead and dead, you stupid fucks! The only fighting now’s down south!
Bethod’s gone to war with the Union! Aye! And we’re giving ’em a beating
too!”
TheDogman wasn’tsurewhetherto believeit.King? There’d neverbeena
kingintheNorthbefore.There’dneverbeenaneedforone,andBethodwasthe
last one he’d have chosen. And making war on the Union? That was a fool’s
errand,surely.Therewerealwaysmoresoutherners.
“Ifthere’snofightinghere,”askedtheDogman,“whatyoukillingfor?”
“Fuckyourself!”
Tulslappedhimintheface,hard,andhefellonhisback.Dowputinakickof
hisown,thendraggedhimupstraightagain.
“Whatdidyoukill’emfor?”askedTul.
“Taxes!”shoutedtheMire,withbloodtricklingoutofhisnose.
“Taxes?” asked the Dogman. A strange word alright, he barely knew the
meaningofit.
“Theywouldn’tpay!”
“Taxesforwho?”askedDow.
“ForBethod,whodoyouthink?Hetookallthisland,broketheclansupand
tookitforhisown!Thepeopleowehim!Andwecollect!”
“Taxes, eh? That’s a fucking southern fashion and no mistake! And if they
can’tpay?”askedDogman,feelingsicktohisguts.“Youhang’em,doyou?”
“Iftheywon’tpaywecandoaswepleasewith’em!”
“Asyou please?” Tulgrabbedhim round theneck, squeezing withhisgreat
big hand ’til the Mire’s eyes were half popping out. “As you please? Does it
pleaseyoutohang’em?”
“Alright, Thunderhead,” said Dow, peeling Tul’s big fingers away, and
pushinghimgentlyback.“Alright,biglad,thisain’tforyou,tokillamantied
up.”Andhepattedhimonthechest,pullingouthisaxe.“It’sforworklikethis
youbringalongamanlikeme.”
The Mire had more or less got over his throttling now. “Thunderhead?” he
coughed, looking round at them. “It’s the whole lot of you, ain’t it! You’re
Threetrees, and Grim, and that’s the Weakest there! So you don’t kneel, eh?
Goodforfuckin’you!Where’sNinefingers?Eh?”jeeredtheMire.“Where’sthe
Bloody-Nine?”
Dowturnedround,runninghisthumbdowntheedgeofhisaxe.“Goneback
tothemud,andyou’rejoininghim.We’veheardenough.”
“Let me up, bastard!” shouted the Mire, struggling at his ropes. “You’re no
better’nme,BlackDow!You’vekilledmorefolkthantheplague!Letmeupand
givemeablade!Comeon!Youscaredtofightme,youcoward?Scaredtogivea
fairchanceareyer?”
“Callmecoward,wouldyou?”growledDow.“Youwho’skilledchildrenfor
thesportofit?Youhadabladeandyouletitdrop.Thatwasyourchanceand
you should have took it. The likes o’ you don’t deserve another. If you’ve
anythingtosayworthhearingyoubestsayitnow.”
“Shitonyer!”screamedtheMire,“Shitonthepackof—”
Dow’saxecrackedhimhardbetweentheeyesandknockedhimonhisback.
Hekickedalittlethenthatwasit.Notaoneofthemshedtoobigatearforthat
bastard—evenForleygavenomorethanawincewhenthebladewentin.Dow
leanedoverandspatonhiscorpse,andtheDogmanhardlyblamedhim.Theboy
wassomethingmoreofaproblem,though.Hestareddownatthebodywithbig,
wideeyes,thenhelookedup.
“You’rethem,ain’tya,”hesaid,“themasNinefingersbeat.”
“Aye,boy,”saidThreetrees,“we’rethem.”
“Iheardstories,storiesaboutyou.Whatyougoingtodowithme?”
“Well,there’sthequestion,ain’tit,”Dogmanmutteredtohimself.Shamewas,
healreadyknewtheanswer.
“Hecan’tstaywithus,”saidThreetrees.“Wecan’ttakethebaggageandwe
can’ttaketherisk.”
“He’sjustalad,”saidForley.“Wecouldlethimgo.”Itwasanicethought,
butitwasn’tholdingmuchwater,andtheyallknewit.Theboylookedhopeful,
butTulputanendtothat.
“We can’t trust him. Not here. He’d tell someone we were back, and then
we’dbehunted.Can’tdoit.Besides,hehadhispartinthatworkatthefarm.”
“Butwhat choicedidI ’ave?”askedthe boy.“Whatchoice? Iwantedto go
south!GosouthandfighttheUnion,andearnmyselfaname,buttheysentme
here,togettaxes.Mychiefsaysdoathing,Igottodoit,don’tI?”
“Youdo,”saidThreetrees.“Noonesaysyoucould’vedonedifferent.”
“Ididn’twantnopart ofit! Itoldhimtolet theyoung onesbe!Yougotto
believeme!”
Forleylookeddownathisboots.“Wedobelieveyou.”
“Butyou’regoingtofuckin’killmeanyway?”
Dogmanchewedathislip.“Can’ttakeyouwithus,can’tleaveyoube.”
“Ididn’twantnopartofit.”Theboyhunghishead.“Don’thardlyseemfair.”
“Itain’t,”saidThreetrees.“Itain’tfairatall.Butthereitis.”
Dow’saxehackedintothebackofthelad’sskullandhesprawledoutonhis
face.TheDogman winced andlookedaway.Heknew Dow did itthatway so
they wouldn’t have to look at the boy’s face. A good idea most likely, and he
hopedithelpedtheothers,butfaceuporfacedownwasallthesametohim.He
feltalmostassickashehadbackatthefarm.
Itwasn’ttheworstdayhe’deverhad,notbyalongway.Butitwasabadone.
The Dogman watched ’em filing down the road from a good spot up in the
treeswherenoonecouldseehim.Hemadesureitwasdownwindfrom’emtoo,
causebeinghonest,hewassmellingabitripe.Itwasastrangeoldprocession.
Ontheonehandtheylookedlikefightingmen,offtoaweapon-takeandthento
battle. On the other hand they were all wrong. Old weapons mostly, and odds
andsodsofmixeduparmour.Marching,butlooseandragged.Mostof’emtoo
oldtobeprimefighters,greyhairandbaldheads,andalotoftheresttooyoung
forbeards,hardlymorethanboys.
Seemed to the Dogman like nothing made sense in the North no more. He
thoughtonwhattheMirehadsaidbeforeDowkilledhim.WarwiththeUnion.
Weretheselotofftowar?IftheywerethenBethodmusthavebeenscrapingthe
pot.
“What’s to do, Dogman?” asked Forley, as he stepped back into the camp.
“What’shappeningdownthere?”
“Men.Armed,butnonetoowell.Fivescoreormore.Youngandoldmostly,
headingsouthandwest,”andtheDogmanpointedoffdowntheroad.
Threetrees nodded. “Towards Angland. He means it then, Bethod. He’s
making war on the Union, all the way. No amount of blood’s enough for that
one.He’stakingeverymancanholdaspear.”Thatwasnosurprise,initsway.
Bethodhadneverbeenoneforhalfmeasures.Hewasallornothing,anddidn’t
carewhogotkilledalongtheroad.“Everyman,”mutteredThreetreestohimself.
“IftheShankacomeoverthemountainsnow…”
Dogman looked round. Frowning, worried, dirty faces. He knew what
Threetreeswassaying,theycouldallseeit.IftheShankacamenow,withnoone
leftintheNorthtofight’em,thatbusinessatthefarmwouldbethebestofit.
“Wegottowarnsomeone!”shoutedForley,“wegottowarnthem!”
Threetreesshookhishead.“YouheardtheMire.Yawl’sgone,andRattleneck,
andSything.Alldeadandcold,andgonebacktothemud.Bethod’sKingnow,
KingoftheNorthmen.”BlackDowscowledandgobbedinthedirt.“Spitallyou
likeDow,butfactsisfacts.There’snoonelefttowarn.”
“Noone but Bethodhimself,”muttered theDogman,miserable at havingto
sayit.
“Thenwegottotellhim!”Forleylookedroundthemall,desperate.“Hemay
beaheartlessbastardbutatleasthe’saman!He’sbetterthantheFlatheadsain’t
he?Wegottotellsomeone!”
“Hah!” barked Dow. “Hah! You think he’ll listen to us, Weakest? You
forgotten what he told us? Us and Ninefingers too? Never come back! You
forgotten how close he come to killing us? You forgotten how much he hates
eachoneofus?”
“Fearsus,”saidGrim.
“Hatesandfearsus,”mutteredThreetrees,“andhe’swiseto.Becausewe’re
strong.Namedmen.Knownmen.Thetypeofmenthatotherswillfollow.”
Tulnoddedhisbighead.“Aye,there’llbenowelcomeforusatCarleonI’m
thinking.Nowelcomewithoutaspikeontheendofit.”
“I’m not strong!” shouted Forley. “I’m the Weakest, everyone knows that!
Bethod’sgotnoreasontofearme,nortohatemeneither.I’llgo!”
Dogmanlookedathim,surprised.Theyalldid.“You?”askedDow.
“Aye,me!Imaybenofighter,butI’mnocowardneither!I’llgoandtalkto
him.Maybehe’lllisten.”Dogmanstoodandstared.Itwassolongsinceanyone
ofthemhadtriedtotalktheirwayoutofafixhe’dforgottenitcouldbedone.
“Mightbehe’lllisten,”mutteredThreetrees.
“Hemightlisten,”saidTul.“Thenhemightbloodykillyou,Weakest!”
Dogmanshookhishead.“It’squiteachance.”
“Maybe,butit’sworththedoing,ain’tit?”
They all looked at each other, worried. It was some bones that Forley was
showing,nodoubt,buttheDogmandidn’tmuchlikethesoundofthisforaplan.
Hewasathinthreadtohangyourhopeson,wasBethod.Amightythinthread.
ButlikeThreetreessaid,therewasnooneelse.
WordsandDust
Kurster pranced around the outside of the circle, his long golden hair
bouncingonhisshoulders,wavingtothecrowd,blowingkissestothegirls.The
audience cheered and howled and whooped as the lithe young man made his
flashyrounds.HewasanAduan,anofficeroftheKing’sOwn.Alocalboy,and
soverypopular.
Bremer dan Gorst was leaning against the barrier, watching his opponent
dance through barely open eyes. His steels were unusually heavy-looking,
weightyandwornandwell-used,tooheavytobequickperhaps.Gorsthimself
lookedtooheavytobequick,cometothat,agreatthick-neckedbullofaman,
morelikeawrestlerthanaswordsman.Helookedtheunderdoginthisbout.The
majorityofthecrowdseemedtothinkso.ButIknowbetter.
Nearby a bet-maker was shouting odds, taking money from the babbling
peoplearoundhim.NearlyallofthebetswereforKurster.Gloktaleanedacross
fromhisbench.“WhatoddsareyougivingonGorstnow?”
“OnGorst?”askedthebet-maker,“evens.”
“I’lltaketwohundredmarks.”
“Sorry,friend,Ican’tcoverthat.”
“Ahundredthen,atfivetofour.”
Thebet-makerthoughtaboutitforamoment,lookingskywardsasheworked
outthesumsinhishead.“Done.”
Gloktasatbackastherefereeintroducedthecontestants,watchingGorstroll
uphisshirt-sleeves.Theman’sforearmswerethickastreetrunks,heavycords
ofmusclesquirmingasheworkedhismeatyfingers.Hestretchedhisthickneck
toonesideandtheother,thenhetookhissteelsfromhissecondandlooseda
couple of practice jabs. Few in the crowd noticed. They were busy cheering
Kursterashe tookhismark. ButGloktasaw.Quicker than helooks.Alot, lot
quicker.Thoseheavysteelsnolongerseemsoclumsy.
“BremerdanGorst!”shoutedthereferee,asthebigmantrudgedtohismark.
The applause was meagre indeed. This lumbering bull was no one’s idea of a
swordsman.
“Begin!”
Itwasn’tpretty.FromtheverystartGorstswunghisheavylongsteelingreat
heedless sweeps, like a champion woodsman chopping logs, giving throaty
growls with every blow. It was a strange sight. One man was in a fencing
contest,theotherseemedtothinkhewasfightingtothedeath.Youonlyhaveto
touch him, man, not split him in half. But as Glokta watched, he realised the
mightycutswerenotnearlysoclumsyastheyseemed.Theywerewell-timed,
and highly accurate. Kurster laughed as he danced away from the first great
swing,smiledashedodgedthethird,butbythefifthhissmilewaslonggone.
Anditdoesn’tlooklikecomingback.
Itwasn’tprettyatall.Butthepowerisundeniable.Kursterduckeddesperately
underanothergreatarcingcut.Thatonewashardenoughtotakehisheadoff,
bluntedsteelsorno.
Thecrowd’sfavouritedidhisbesttoseizetheinitiative,jabbingawayforall
hewasworth,butGorstwasmorethanequaltoit.Hegruntedasheturnedthe
jabsefficientlyawaywithhisshortsteel,thengrowledagainashebroughthis
long whistling around and over. Glokta winced as it smashed into Kurster’s
swordwitharesoundingcrash,snappingtheman’swristbackandnearlytearing
thesteelfromhisfingers.Hestumbledbackfromtheforceofit,grimacingwith
painandshock.
Now I realise why Gorst’s steels seem so worn. Kurster dodged around the
circle, trying to escape the onslaught, but the big man was too quick. Far too
quick.Gorsthadthemeasureofhimnow,anticipatingeverymovement,harrying
hisopponentwithrelentlessblows.Therewasnoescape.
Two heavy thrusts drove the hapless officer back towards the edge of the
circle,thenascythingcutrippedhislongsteelfromhishandandembeddedit,
wobbling wildly back and forth, in the turf. He staggered for a moment, eyes
wide, his empty hand trembling, then Gorst was on him, letting go a roar and
rammingfull-tiltintohisdefencelessribswithaheavyshoulder.
Gloktasplutteredwithlaughter.Ineversawaswordsmanflybefore. Kurster
actuallyturnedhalfasomersault,shriekinglikeagirlashetumbledthroughthe
air,crashingtothegroundwithhislimbsfloppingandslidingawayonhisface.
Hefinallycametorestinthesandoutsidethecircle,agoodthreestridesfrom
whereGorsthadhithim,groaningweakly.
Thecrowdwasinshock,soquietthatGlokta’scacklinghadtobeaudibleon
thebackrow.Kurster’strainerrushedfromhisenclosureandgentlyturnedhis
strickenstudentover.Theyoungmankickedweakly,whimperedandclutchedat
hisribs.Gorstwatchedfor a moment, emotionless, then shrugged and strolled
backtohismark.
Kurster’s trainer turned to the referee. “I am sorry,” he said, “but my pupil
cannotcontinue.”
Gloktacouldnothelphimself.Hehadtoclamphismouthshutwithhishands.
Hiswholebodywasshakingwithlaughter.Eachgurglecausedapainfulspasm
inhisneck,buthedidn’tcare.Itseemedthemajorityofthecrowdhadnotfound
thespectaclequitesoamusing.Angrymutteringssprangupallaroundhim.The
grumblingturnedtoboosasKursterwashelpedfromthecircle,drapedbetween
histrainerandhissecond,thentheboostoachorusofangryshouts.
Gorstswept the audiencewithhis lazy, half-openeyes,then shrugged again
and trudged slowly back to his enclosure. Glokta was still sniggering as he
limpedfromthearena,hispurseagooddealheavierthanwhenhearrived.He
hadn’thadthatmuchfuninyears.
The University stood in a neglected corner of the Agriont, directly in the
shadowoftheHouseoftheMaker,whereeventhebirdsseemedoldandtired.A
huge, ramshackle building, coated in half-dead ivy, its design plainly from an
earlierage.Itwassaidtobeoneoftheoldestbuildingsinthecity.Anditlooks
it.
The roofs were sagging in the middle, a couple of them close to outright
collapse.The delicatespireswerecrumbling, threateningtotopple offintothe
unkempt gardens below. The render on the walls was tired and grimy, and in
placeswholesectionshadfallenaway torevealthebare stonesand crumbling
mortarbeneath.Inonespotagreatbrownstainflaredoutdownthewallfroma
sectionofbrokenguttering.Therehadbeenatimewhenthestudyofsciences
had attracted some of the foremost men in the Union, when this building had
been among the grandest in the city. And Sult thinks the Inquisition is out of
fashion.
Twostatuesflankedthecrumblinggate.Twooldmen,onewithalamp,one
pointing at something in a book. Wisdom and progress or some such rubbish.
Theonewiththebookhadlosthisnosesometimeduringthepastcentury,the
other was leaning at an angle, his lamp stuck out despairingly as though
clutchingforsupport.
Gloktaraisedhisfistandhammeredontheancientdoors.Theyrattled,moved
noticeably, as if they might at any moment drop from their hinges. Glokta
waited.Waitedsometime.
Therewasasuddenclatterofboltsbeingdrawnback,andonehalfofthedoor
wobbled open a few inches. An ancient face wedged itself into the gap and
squinted out at him, lit underneath by a meagre taper clutched in a withered
hand.Dewyoldeyespeeredupanddown.“Yes?”
“InquisitorGlokta.”
“Ah,fromtheArchLector?”
Gloktafrowned,surprised.“Yes,that’sright.”Theycannotbehalfsocutoff
fromtheworldastheyappear.HeseemstoknowwhoIam.
Itwasperilouslydarkwithin.Twoenormousbrasscandelabrasstoodoneither
sideofthedoor,buttheywerestrippedofcandlesandhadlonggoneunpolished,
shining dully in the weak light from the porter’s little taper. “This way, sir,”
wheezedtheoldman,shamblingoff,bentnearlydouble.EvenGloktahadlittle
troublekeepingupwithhimashecreptawaythroughthegloom.
They shuffled together down a shadowy hallway. The windows on one side
wereancient,madewithtinypanesofglasssodirtythattheywouldhaveletin
little enough light on the sunniest of days. They let in none whatever as the
sulleneveningcameon.Theflickeringcandleflamedancedoverdustypaintings
ontheoppositewall,paleoldmenindarkgownsofblackandgrey,gazingwild-
eyed from their flaking frames, flasks and cog-wheels and pairs of compasses
clutchedintheiragedhands.
“Where are we going?” asked Glokta, after they had shambled through the
murkforseveralminutes.
“TheAdeptiareatdinner,”wheezedtheporter,glancingupathimwitheyes
infinitelytired.
The University’s dining hall was an echoing cavern of a room, lifted one
degreeabovetotaldarknessbyafewgutteringcandles.Asmallfireflickeredin
anenormousfireplace,castingdancingshadowsamongtherafters.Alongtable
stretchedthelengthofthefloor,polishedbylongyearsofuse,flankedbyrickety
chairs.Itcouldeasilyhaveaccommodatedeightybuttherewereonlyfivethere,
crowdedupatoneend,huddledinaroundthefireplace.Theylookedoverasthe
tapsofGlokta’scaneechoedthroughthehall,pausingintheirmealsandpeering
over with great interest. The man at the head of the table got to his feet and
hurriedover,holdingthehemofhislongblackgownupwithonehand.
“Avisitor,”wheezedtheporter,wavinghiscandleinGlokta’sdirection.
“Ah,fromtheArchLector!IamSilber,theUniversityAdministrator!”And
heshookGlokta’shand.Hiscompanionshadmeanwhilelurchedandtotteredto
theirfeetasthoughtheguestofhonourhadjustarrived.
“InquisitorGlokta.”Hestaredroundattheeageroldmen.Agooddealmore
deference than I was expecting, I must say. But then, the Arch Lectors name
opensallkindsofdoors.
“Glokta, Glokta,” mumbled one of the old men, “seems that I remember a
Gloktafromsomewhere.”
“You remember everything from somewhere, but you never remember
where,”quippedtheadministrator,tohalf-heartedlaughter.“Pleaseletmemake
theintroductions.”
He went round the four black-gowned scientists, one by one. “Saurizin, our
AdeptusChemical.”Abeefy,unkemptoldfellowwithburnsandstainsdownthe
frontofhisrobeandmorethanonebitoffoodinhisbeard.“Denka,theAdeptus
Metallic.” The youngest of the four by a considerable margin, though by no
meansayoungman,hadanarroganttwisttohismouth.“Chayle,ourAdeptus
Mechanical.” Glokta had never seen a man with so big a head but so small a
face. His ears, in particular, were immense, and sprouting grey hairs. “And
Kandelau, the Adeptus Physical.” A scrawny old bird with a long neck and
spectacles perched on his curving beak of a nose. “Please join us, Inquisitor,”
and the administrator indicated an empty chair, wedged in between two of the
Adepti.
“A glass of wine then?” wheedled Chayle, a prim smile on his tiny mouth,
alreadyleaningforwardwithadecanterandsloshingsomeintoaglass.
“Verywell.”
“We were just discussing the relative merits of our various fields of study,”
murmuredKandelau,peeringatGloktathroughhisflashingspectacles.
“Asalways,”lamentedtheAdministrator.
“The human body is, of course, the only area worthy of true scrutiny,”
continued the Adeptus Physical. “One must appreciate the mysteries within,
before turning one’s attention to the world without. We all have a body,
Inquisitor.Meansofhealingit,andofharmingit,areofparamountinteresttous
all.Itisthehumanbodythatismyareaofexpertise.”
“Bodies! Bodies!” whined Chayle, pursing his little lips and pushing food
aroundhisplate.“Wearetryingtoeat!”
“Quiteso!YouareunsettlingtheInquisitorwithyourghoulishbabble!”
“Oh, I am not easily unsettled.” Glokta leered across the table, giving the
AdeptusMetallicagoodviewofhismissingteeth.“MyworkfortheInquisition
demandsamorethanpassingknowledgeofanatomy.”
Therewasanuncomfortablesilence,thenSaurizintookholdofthemeatplate
and offered it out. Glokta looked at the red slices, glistening on the plate. He
lickedathisemptygums.“Thankyou,no.”
“Is it true?” asked the Adeptus Chemical, peering over the meat, voice
hushed.“Willtherebemorefunds?NowthatthisbusinesswiththeMercersis
settled,thatis?”
Gloktafrowned.Everyonewasstaringathim,waitingforhisreply.Oneofthe
oldAdeptihadhisforkfrozenhalfwaytohismouth.Sothat’sit.Money.Butwhy
wouldtheybeexpectingmoneyfromtheArchLector?Theheavymeatplatewas
beginning to wobble. Well… if it gets them listening. “Money might be made
available,depending,ofcourse,onresults.”
Ahushedmurmurcreptaroundthetable.TheAdeptusChemicalcarefullyset
down the plate with a trembling hand. “I have been having a great deal of
successwithacidsrecently.
“Hah!” mocked the Adeptus Metallic. “Results, the Inquisitor asked for,
results!Mynewalloyswillbestrongerthansteelwhentheyareperfected!”
“Alwaysthealloys!”sighedChayle,turninghistinyeyestowardstheceiling.
“Nooneappreciatestheimportanceofsoundmechanicalthinking!”
TheotherthreeAdeptiroundedfiercelyonhim,buttheAdministratorjumped
in first. “Gentlemen, please! The Inquisitor is not interested in our little
differences! Everyone will have time to discuss their latest work and show its
merits. This is not a competition, is it Inquisitor?” Every eye turned toward
Glokta.Helookedslowlyroundatthoseold,expectantfaces,andsaidnothing.
“Ihavedevelopedamachinefor—”
“Myacids—”
“Myalloys—”
“Themysteriesofthehumanbody—”
Gloktacutthemoff.“Actually,itisintheareaof…Isupposeyouwouldcall
themexplosivesubstances,thatIamcurrentlytakingaparticularinterest—”
TheAdeptusChemicaljumpedfromhisseat.“Thatwouldbemyprovince!”
hecried,staringintriumphathiscolleagues.“Ihavesamples!Ihaveexamples!
Pleasefollowme,Inquisitor!”Andhetossedhiscutleryontohisplateandsetoff
towardsoneofthedoors.
Saurizin’slaboratorywaspreciselyasonewouldhaveexpected,almostdown
tothelastdetail.Alongroomwithabarrel-vaultedceiling,blackenedinplaces
with circles and streaks of soot. Shelves covered most of the wall-space,
brimming with a confusion of boxes, jars, bottles, each filled with its own
powders, fluids, rods of strange metal. There was no apparent order to the
positionsof the various containers,andmost had nolabels.Organisationdoes
notappeartobeapriority.
Thebenchesinthemiddleoftheroomwereevenmoreconfused,coveredin
toweringconstructionsofglassandoldbrowncopper:tubes,flasksanddishes,
lamps—onewithanakedflameburning.Allgavetheappearanceofbeingready
atanymomenttocollapse,dousinganyoneunfortunateenoughtostandnearby
withlethal,boilingpoisons.
The Adeptus Chemical rummaged in amongst this mess like a mole in its
warren.“Nowthen,”hemumbledtohimself,pullingathisdirtybeardwithone
hand,“blastingpowdersaresomewherehere…”
Glokta limped into the room after him, glancing suspiciously around at the
mess of tubing that covered every surface. He wrinkled his nose. There was a
revolting,acridsmelltotheplace.
“Here it is!” crowed the Adeptus, brandishing a dusty jar half-full of black
granules. He cleared a space on one of the benches, shoving the clinking and
clanking glass and metal out of the way with a sweep of his meaty forearm.
“Thisstuffisterriblyrare,youknow,Inquisitor,terriblyrare!”Hepulledoutthe
stopper and tipped a line of black powder onto the wooden bench. “Few men
havebeenfortunateenoughtoseethisstuff in action! Very few! And you are
abouttobecomeoneofthem!”
Gloktatookacautiousstepback,thesizeoftheraggedholeinthewallofthe
TowerofChainsstillfreshinhismind.“Wearesafe,Ihope,atthisdistance?”
“Absolutely,” murmured Saurizin, gingerly holding a burning taper out at
arm’s length and touching it to one end of the line of powder. “There is no
dangerwhatso—”
Therewasasharppopandashowerofwhitesparks.TheAdeptusChemical
leapedback,nearlyblunderingintoGloktaanddroppinghislightedtaperonthe
floor.Therewasanotherpop,louder,moresparks.Afoul-smellingsmokebegan
tofillthelaboratory.Therewasabrightflashandaloudbang,aweakfizzling,
andthatwasall.
Saurizin flapped the long sleeve of his gown in front of his face, trying to
clear the thick smoke that had now thrown the whole chamber into gloom.
“Impressive,eh,Inquisitor?”heasked,beforedissolvingintoafitofcoughing.
Not really. Glokta ground the still-flaming taper out under his boot and
steppedthroughthemurktowardsthebench.Hebrushedasideaquantityofgrey
ashwiththesideofhishand.Therewasalong,blackburnonthesurfaceofthe
wood, but nothing more. The foul-smelling fumes were indeed the most
impressive effect, already clawing at the back of Glokta’s throat. “It certainly
producesagreatdealofsmoke,”hecroaked.
“Itdoes,”coughedtheAdeptusproudly,“andreekstohighheaven.”
Gloktastaredatthatblackenedsmearonthebench.“Ifonehadalargeenough
quantityofthispowder,coulditbeusedto,say,knockaholethroughawall?”
“Possibly… if one could accumulate a large enough quantity, who knows
whatcouldbedone?AsfarasIknownoonehasevertried.”
“Awall,say,fourfeetthick?”
TheAdeptusfrowned.“Perhaps,butyou’dneedbarrelsofthestuff!Barrels!
Thereisn’tthatmuchinthewholeUnion,andthecost,evenifitcouldbefound,
would be colossal! Please understand, Inquisitor, that the components must be
importedfromthedistantsouthofKanta,andareraritieseventhere.Iwouldbe
happy to look into the possibility, of course, but I would need considerable
funding—”
“Thankyouagainforyourtime.”Gloktaturnedandbegantolimpthroughthe
thinningsmoketowardsthedoor.
“I have made some significant progress with acids recently!” cried the
Adeptus, voice cracking. “You really should see those as well!” He took a
shudderingbreath.“TelltheArchLector…significantprogress!”Hedissolved
intoanotherfitofcoughing,andGloktashutthedoortightlybehindhim.
A waste of my time. Our Bayaz could not have smuggled barrels of powder
into that room. Even then, how much smoke, how great a smell would it have
made?Awasteofmytime.
Silberwaslurkinginthehallwayoutside.“Isthereanythingelsethatwecan
showyou,Inquisitor?”
Glokta paused for a moment. “Does anyone here know anything about
magic?”
TheAdministrator’sjawmusclesclenched.“Ajokeofcourse.Perhaps—”
“Magic,Isaid.“
Silber narrowed his eyes. “You must understand that we are a scientific
institution.Thepracticeofmagic,socalled,wouldbemost…inappropriate.”
Glokta frowned at the man. I’m not asking you to get your wand out, fool.
“Fromahistoricalstandpoint,”hesnapped,“theMagi,andsoon.Bayaz!”
“Ah, from a historical standpoint, I see.” Silber’s taut face relaxed slightly.
“Ourlibrarycontainsawiderangeofancienttexts,someofthemdatingbackto
theperiodwhenmagicwasconsidered…lessremarkable.”
“Whocanassistme?”
TheAdministratorraisedhisbrows.“IamafraidthattheAdeptusHistorical
is,ah,somethingofarelic.”
“Ineedtospeakwithhim,notfencewithhim.”
“Ofcourse,Inquisitor,thisway.”
Glokta grabbed the handle of an ancient-looking door, studded with black
rivets,begantoturnit.HefeltSilberseizehisarm.
“No!”hesnapped,guidingGloktaawaydownacorridorbeside.“Thestacks
aredownhere.”
TheAdeptusHistoricalseemedindeedtobeapartofancienthistoryhimself.
His face was a mask of lined and sagging half-transparent skin. Sparse hairs,
snowywhite,stuckunkemptfromhishead.Therewereonlyaquarterasmany
as there should have been, but each was four times longer than you would
expect,hencehiseyebrowswerethin,yetsproutedouttoimpressivelengthin
all directions, like the whiskers of a cat. His mouth hung slack, weak, and
toothless, hands were withered gloves, several sizes too big. Only his eyes
showed any trace of life, peering up at Glokta and the administrator as they
approached.
“Visitors,isit?”croakedtheoldman,apparentlytalkingtoalargeblackcrow
perchedonhisdesk.
“This is Inquisitor Glokta!” bellowed the Administrator, leaning down
towardstheoldman’sear.
“Glokta?”
“FromtheArchLector!”
“Isit?”TheAdeptusHistoricalsquintedupwithhisancienteyes.
“He’ssomewhatdeaf,”Silbermurmured,“butnooneknowsthesebookslike
hedoes.”Hethoughtaboutitforamoment,peeringroundattheendlessstacks,
disappearingintothegloom.“Nooneelseknowsthesebooksatall.”
“Thankyou,”saidGlokta.TheAdministratornoddedandstrodeofftowards
thestairs.Gloktatookasteptowardstheoldmanandthecrowleapedfromthe
table and scrambled into the air, shedding feathers, flapping madly around the
ceiling.Gloktahobbledpainfullyback.I was sure the damn thing was stuffed.
Hewatcheditsuspiciouslyuntilitclatteredtoahaltontopofoneoftheshelves
andperchedtheremotionless,staringathimwithitsbeadyyelloweyes.
Gloktapulledoutachairanddroppedintoit.“IneedtoknowaboutBayaz.”
“Bayaz,”mutteredtheancientAdeptus.“Thefirstletterinthealphabetofthe
oldtongue,ofcourse.”
“Ididn’tknowthat.”
“Theworld’sbrimming fullofwhat you don’tknow,young man.” Thebird
gave a sudden harsh caw, horribly loud in the dusty silence of the stacks.
“Brimmingfull.”
“Then let’s begin my education. It’s the man Bayaz, I need to know about.
TheFirstoftheMagi.”
“Bayaz. The name great Juvens gave to his first apprentice. One letter, one
name.Firstapprentice,firstletterofthealphabet,youunderstand?”
“I’mjustaboutkeepingup.Didhereallyexist?”
TheancientAdeptusscowled.“Unquestionably.Didyounothaveatutorasa
youngman?”
“Idid,unfortunately.”
“Didhenotteachyouhistory?”
“Hetried,butmymindwasonfencingandgirls.”
“Ah.Ilostinterestinsuchthingsalongtimeago.”
“SodidI.LetusreturntoBayaz.”
Theold man sighed.“Longago, beforetherewas a Union,Midderlandwas
madeofmanypettykingdoms,oftenatwarwithoneanother,risingandfalling
withthepassingyears.OneofthesewasruledbyamancalledHarod,laterto
becomeHarodtheGreat.You’veheardofhim,Iassume?”
“Ofcourse.”
“BayazcametoHarod’sthroneroom,andpromisedtomakehimKingofall
Midderlandifhedidashewastold.Harod,beingyoungandheadstrong,didnot
believehim,butBayazbrokethelongtablewithhisArt.”
“Magic,eh?”
“Sothestorygoes.Harodwasimpressed—”
“Understandable.”
“—andheagreedtoaccepttheadviceoftheMagus—”
“Whichwas?”
“Tomakehiscapitalhere,inAdua.Tomakepeacewithcertainneighbours,
war with others, and when and how to do it.” The old man squinted across at
Glokta.“AreyoutellingthisstoryoramI?”
“Youare.”Andyou’retakingyourtimeaboutit.
“Bayazwasgoodashisword.IntimeMidderlandwasunified,Harodbecame
itsfirstHighKing,theUnionwasborn.”
“Thenwhat?”
“Bayaz served as Harod’s chief counsellor. Our laws and statutes, the very
structureofourgovernment,allaresaidtobehisinventions,littlechangedsince
thoseancientdays.HeestablishedtheCouncils,ClosedandOpen,heformedthe
Inquisition.OnHarod’sdeathhelefttheUnion,promisingonedaytoreturn.”
“Isee.Howmuchofthisistrue,doyouthink?”
“Hard to say. Magus? Wizard? Magician?” The old man looked at the
flickeringcandleflame.“Toasavage,thatcandlemightbemagic.It’safineline
indeed,betweenmagicandtrickery,eh?ButthisBayazwasacunningmindin
hisday,that’safact.”
Thisisalluseless.“Whataboutbefore?”
“Beforewhat?”
“BeforetheUnion.BeforeHarod.”
Theoldmanshrugged.“Record-keepingwashardlyapriorityduringthedark
ages. The whole world was in chaos after the war between Juvens and his
brotherKanedias—”
“Kanedias?TheMasterMaker?”
“Aye.”
Kanedias. He stares down from the walls of my little room in the cellars
beneath Severard’s charming town house. Juvens dead, his eleven apprentices,
theMagi,marchingtoavengehim.Iknowthistale.
“Kanedias,”murmuredGlokta,theimageofthatdarkfigurewiththeflames
behindclearinhismind.“TheMasterMaker.Washereal?”
“Hard to say. He’s in the ground between myth and history, I suppose.
Probably there’s some grain of truth in it. Someone must have built that big
bloodytower,eh?”
“Tower?”
“TheHouseoftheMaker!”Theoldmangesturedattheroomaroundthem.
“Andtheysayhebuiltallthisaswell.”
“What,thislibrary?”
The old man laughed. “The whole Agriont, or at least the rock on which it
stands. The University too. He built it, appointed the first Adepti to help him
withhisworks,whatevertheywere,tolookintothenatureofthings.Wehere
aretheMaker’sdisciples,yes,thoughIdoubttheyknowitupstairs.Heisgone
buttheworkcontinues,eh?”
“Afterafashion.Wheredidhego?”
“Hah.Dead.YourfriendBayazkilledhim.”
Gloktaraisedaneyebrow.“Didhereally?”
“Sothestorygoes.HaveyounotreadTheFalloftheMasterMaker?”
“Thatrubbish?Ithoughtitwasallinvention.”
“Soitis.Sensationalclaptrap,butbasedonwritingsfromthetime.”
“Writings?Suchthingssurvive?”
Theoldmannarrowedhiseyes.“Some.”
“Some?Youhavethemhere?”
“Oneinparticular.”
Gloktafixedtheoldmanwithhiseye.“Bringittome.”
The ancient paper crackled as the Adeptus Historical carefully unrolled the
scrollandspreaditoutonthetable.Theparchmentwasyellowandcrumpled,
edges rough with age, scrawled with a dense script: strange characters, utterly
unintelligibletoGlokta’seye.
“Whatisitwrittenin?”
“The old tongue. Few can read this now.” The old man pointed to the first
line.“AnaccountofthefallofKanedias,thissays,thethirdofthree.”
“Thirdofthree?”
“Ofthreescrolls,Ipresume.”
“Wherearetheothertwo?”
“Lost.”
“Huh.” Glokta peered into the endless darkness of the stacks. It’s a wonder
anythingcanbefounddownhere.“Whatdoesthisonesay?”
The ancient librarian peered down at the strange writing, poorly illuminated
by the single flickering candle, his trembling forefinger tracing across the
parchment,hislipsmovingsilently.“Greatwastheirfury.”
“What?”
“That’showitbegins.Greatwastheirfury.”Hebeganslowlytoread.“The
Magi pursued Kanedias, driving his faithful before them. They broke his
fortress,layingruintohisbuildingsandkillinghisservants.TheMakerhimself,
sorewoundedinthe battlewithhisbrotherJuvens,took refugein hisHouse.”
Theoldman unrolled a littlemore.“Twelve days and twelvenights,theMagi
threwtheirwrathagainstthegates,butcouldnotmarkthem.ThenBayazfound
awayinside…”TheAdeptusswepthishandovertheparchmentinfrustration.
Damp, or something, had blurred the characters in the next section. “I can’t
makethisout…somethingabouttheMakersdaughter?”
“Yousure?”
“No!”snappedtheoldman.“There’sawholesectionmissing!”
“Ignoreitthen!What’sthenextthingyoucanbesureof?”
“Well,let’ssee…Bayazfollowedhimtotheroof,andcasthimdown.”The
oldmannoisilyclearedhisthroat.“TheMakerfellburning,andbrokeuponthe
bridgebelow.TheMagisearchedhighandlowfortheSeed,butcouldnotfind
it.”
“Seed?”askedGlokta,baffled.
“That’sallthat’swritten.”
“Whatthehelldoesitmean?”
Theoldmansaggedbackinhischair,evidentlyenjoyingthisrareopportunity
toholdforthonhisareaofexpertise.“Theendoftheageofmyth,thebeginning
oftheageofreason.Bayaz,theMagi,theyrepresentorder.TheMakerisagod-
like figure: superstition, ignorance, I don’t know. There must be some truth to
him. After all, someone built that big bloody tower,” and he wheezed with
breathylaughter.
GloktacouldnotbebotheredtopointoutthattheAdeptushadmadethevery
samejokeafewminutesbefore.Anditwasn’tfunnythen.Repetition—thecurse
oftheold.“WhataboutthisSeed?”
“Magic,secrets,power?It’sallametaphor.”
I will not impress the Arch Lector with metaphors. Especially bad ones.“Is
therenomore?”
“Itgoesonabit,let’ssee.”Helookedbackatthesymbols.“Hebrokeonthe
bridge,theysearchedfortheSeed…”
“Yes,yes.”
“Patience,Inquisitor.”Hiswitheredfingertracedacrossthecharacters.“They
sealed up the House of the Maker. They buried the fallen, Kanedias and his
daughter among them. That’s all.” He peered at the page, his finger hovering
overthelastfewletters.“AndBayaztookthekey.That’sall.”
Glokta’seyebrowswentup.“What?Whatwasthatlastbit?”
“Theysealedthegates,theyburiedthefallen,andBayaztookthekey.”
“Thekey?ThekeytotheHouseoftheMaker?”
TheAdeptusHistoricalsquintedbackatthepage.“That’swhatitsays.”
Thereisnokey.Thattowerhasstoodsealedforcenturies,everyoneknowsit.
Ourimpostorwillhavenokey,that’ssure.Slowly,Gloktabegantosmile.Itis
thin, it is very thin, but with the right setting, the right emphasis, it might be
enough.TheArchLectorwillbepleased.
“I’llbetakingthis.”Gloktapulledtheancientscrolloverandstartedtorollit
up.
“What?” The eyes of the Adeptus were wide with horror. “You can’t!” He
staggeredupfromhischair,evenmorepainfullythanGloktamighthavedone.
Hiscrowscrambledupwithhim,flappingaroundneartheceilingandcroaking
inafury,but Gloktaignored themboth. “You can’ttake it!It’sirreplaceable,”
wheezedtheoldman,makingahopelessgrabforthescroll.
Gloktaspreadhisarmsoutwide.“Stopme!Whydon’tyou?I’dliketoseeit!
Canyouimagine?Wetwocripples,flounderingaroundinthestackswithabird
loosing its droppings on us, tugging this old piece of paper to and fro?” He
giggledtohimself.“Thatwouldn’tbeverydignified,wouldit?”
The Adeptus Historical, exhausted by his pitiful efforts, crumpled back into
hischair,breathinghard.“Noonecaresaboutthepastanymore,”hewhispered.
“Theydon’tseethatyoucan’thaveafuturewithoutapast.”
How very deep. Glokta slipped the rolled-up parchment into his coat and
turnedtoleave.
“Who’sgoingtolookafterthepast,whenI’mgone?”
“Whocares?”askedGloktaashestalkedtowardsthesteps,“aslongasitisn’t
me.”
TheRemarkableTalentsofBrotherLongfoot
The cheering had woken Logen every morning for a week. It started early,
rippinghimfromhissleep,loudasabattlecloseathand.He’dthoughtitwasa
battlewhenhefirstheardit,butnowheknewitwasjusttheirdamnstupidsport.
Closing the window brought some relief from the noise, but the heat soon
becameunbearable.Itwassleepalittle,orsleepnotatall.Soheleftthewindow
open.
Logenrubbedhiseyes,cursing,andhauledhimselffromhisbed.Anotherhot,
tediousdayintheCityofWhiteTowers.Ontheroad,inthewild,he’dbealert
assoonashiseyesopened,butherethingsweredifferent.Theboredomandthe
heatweremakinghimslowandlazy.Hestumbledacrossthethresholdintothe
livingroom,yawningwideandrubbingathisjawwithonehand.Hestopped.
There was someone in there, a stranger. Standing at the window, bathed in
sunlight with his hands clasped behind him. A small, slight man, with hair
shavedclosetohisknobblyskullandstrange,travel-wornclothes—faded,baggy
clothwrappedroundandroundhisbody.
BeforeLogenhadachancetospeak,themanturnedandsprangnimblyover
tohim.“Andyouare?”hedemanded.Hissmilingfacewasdeeplytannedand
weather-beaten,likethecreasedleatheronafavouritepairofboots.Itmadeit
impossibletoguesshisage.Hecouldhavebeenanywherefromtwenty-fiveto
fifty.
“Ninefingers,”mutteredLogen,takingacautiousstepbacktowardsthewall.
“Ninefingers,yes.”ThelittlemanpressedforwardsandseizedLogen’shand
inbothofhis,grippingittightly.“Itisanhonourandprivilegemostprofound,”
hesaid,closinghiseyesandbowinghishead,“tomakeyouracquaintance!”
“You’veheardofme?”
“Alas, no, but all God’s creatures are worthy of the deepest respect.” He
bowedhisheadagain.“IamBrotherLongfoot,atravelleroftheillustriousorder
ofNavigators.Therearefewlandsbeneaththesunuponwhichmyfeethavenot
trodden.” He pointed down towards his well-worn boots then spread his arms
wide.“FromthemountainsofThondtothedesertsofShamir,fromtheplainsof
theOld Empire to thesilverwaters of theThousandIsles, all theworldis my
home!Truly!”
Hespokethenortherntonguewell,betterthanLogenhimselfperhaps.“And
theNorthtoo?”
“Onebriefvisit,inmyyouth.Ifoundtheclimatesomewhatharsh.”
“Youspeakthelanguagewellenough.”
“TherearefewtonguesthatI,BrotherLongfoot,cannotspeak.Aneffortless
skillwith languagesisbut one amongmymany remarkabletalents.”The man
beamed.“Godhastrulyblessedme,”headded.
Logen wondered if this might be some elaborate joke. “What brings you
here?”
“Ihavebeensentfor!”Hisdarkeyessparkled.
“Sentfor?”
“IndeedIhave!ByBayaz,theFirstoftheMagi!Ihavebeensentfor,andI
havecome!Thatismyway!Amostgenerouscontributiontothecoffersofthe
orderhasbeenmadeinreturnformyremarkabletalents,butIwouldhavecome
withoutit.Indeed.Withoutit!”
“Really?”
“Indeed!”Thesmallmansteppedawayandstartedtostridearoundtheroom
ataterrificpace,rubbinghishandstogether.“Thechallengeofthisassignment
spokeasmuchtotheprideoftheorder,astoitswell-documentedgreed!Andit
was I! I who was selected, from all the Navigators within the Circle of the
World,forthistask!I,BrotherLongfoot!I,andnoother!Whoinmyposition,of
myreputation,couldresistsuchachallenge?”
HestoppedbeforeLogenandlookedupathimexpectantly,asifwaitingfor
ananswertohisquestion.“Er—”
“NotI!”shoutedLongfoot,settingoffonanothercircuitoftheroom.“Idid
notresistit!WhywouldI?Thatwouldnotbemyway!Tojourneytothevery
edgeoftheWorld? What a tale that will make! What aninspirationtoothers!
Whatan—”
“TheedgeoftheWorld?”askedLogensuspiciously.
“Iknow!”Thestrangemanclappedhimonthearm.“Weareequallyexcited!”
“ThismustbeourNavigator.”Bayazemergedfromhisroom.
“Iamindeed.BrotherLongfoot,atyourservice.Andyouare,Ipresume,none
otherthanmyillustriousemployer,Bayaz,theFirstoftheMagi.”
“Iamhe.”
“It is an honour and a privilege most profound!” cried Longfoot, springing
forwardandseizingtheMagusbythehand,“tomakeyouracquaintance!”
“Likewise.Itrustyourjourneywasapleasantone.”
“Journeysarealwayspleasanttome!Always!Itisthetimebetweenthemthat
Ifindtrying.Indeeditis!”BayazfrownedoveratLogenbuthecouldonlyshrug
hisshoulders.“MayIaskhowlongitwillbeuntilwebeginourjourney?Iam
mostkeentoembark!”
“Soon,Ihope,thelastmemberofourexpeditionwillarrive.Wewillneedto
charteraship.”
“Ofcourse!Itshallbemyparticularpleasureto doso! Whatshall Itell the
captainofourcourse?”
“WestacrosstheCircleSea,toStariksa,thenontoCalcisintheOldEmpire.”
Thelittlemansmiledandbowedlow.“Youapprove?”
“Ido,butshipsrarelypasstoCalcisnow.TheOldEmpire’sendlesswarshave
madethewatersdangerousthereabouts.Piracy,alas,isrife.Itmaybedifficultto
findacaptainwilling.”
“Thisshouldhelp.”Bayaztossedhisever-bulgingpurseontothetable.
“Itshouldindeed.”
“Makesuretheshipisfast.OncewearereadyIdonotwishtowasteaday.”
“Onthatyoumaydepend,”saidtheNavigator,scoopinguptheheavybagof
coins.“Tosailinslowvesselsisnotmyway!No!Iwillfindforyouthefastest
shipinallAdua!Yes!SheshallflylikethebreathofGod!Sheshallskipover
thewaveslike—”
“Merelyfastwilldo.”
Thelittlemaninclinedhishead.“Thetimeofdeparture?”
“Withinthemonth.”BayazlookedatLogen.“Whydon’tyougowithhim?”
“Uh?”
“Yes!” shouted the Navigator, “we will go together!” He grabbed Logen by
theelbowandbegantopullhimtowardsthedoor.
“Iwillexpectsomechange,BrotherLongfoot!”calledBayaz,frombehind.
TheNavigatorturnedinthedoorway.“Therewillbechange,onthatyoumay
depend.Aneyeforvalue,aflairforbarter,adauntlesspurposeinnegotiation!
Thesearebutthree,”andhesmiledbroadly,“ofmyremarkabletalents!”
“It is a fabulous place, this Adua. Truly. Few cities are its equal. Shaffa,
perhaps,islarger,butsoverydusty.NonecoulddenythatWestportandDagoska
have their sights. Some think of Ospria, on its mountain slopes, as the most
beautifulcityoftheworld,butBrotherLongfoot’sheart,itmustbesaid,belongs
to great Talins. Have you been there, Master Ninefingers, have you seen that
noblesettlement?”
“Er…” Logen was busy trying to keep up with the little man, dodging
betweentheendlessflowofpeople.
Longfoot stopped so suddenly that Logen almost piled into him. The
Navigatorturned,hishandsraised,afarawaylookinhiseye.“Talinsatsunset,
seenfromtheocean!Ihavewitnessedmanyremarkablethings,believeme,butI
declare that to be the most beautiful sight in all the world. The way the sun
gleamsonthemyriadcanals,ontheglintingdomesoftheGrandDuke’scitadel,
onthegracefulpalacesofthemerchantprinces!Wherenowdoestheshiningsea
end, and the shining city begin? Ah! Talins!” He turned and charged off once
moreandLogenhurriedafterhim.
“ButthisAduaisafineplace,certainly,andgrowingeveryyear.Thingshave
changedagreatdealheresincemylastvisit,indeedtheyhave.Oncetherewere
onlynoblemenandcommoners.Thenoblemenownedthelandsotheyhadthe
moneyandthereforethepower.Ha.Simple,yousee?”
“Well—” Logen was having trouble seeing much further than Longfoot’s
back.
“Butnowtheyhavetrade,andsomuchofit.Merchants,andbankers,andso
forth.Everywhere.Armiesofthem.Nowcommonerscanberich,yousee?And
a rich commoner has power. Is he a commoner now, or a nobleman? Or is he
somethingelse?Ha.Verycomplicatedallofasudden,no?”
“Er—”
“So much wealth. So much money. But so much poverty too, eh? So many
beggars,somanypoor.Hardlyhealthy,sorichandsopoor,soclosetogether,but
it’safineplacestill,andalwaysgrowing.”
“Ifindittoocrowded,”mumbledLogenasashoulderbargedpasthim,“and
toohot.”
“Bah!Crowded?Doyoucallthiscrowded?Youshouldseethegreattemple
in Shaffa at morning prayer! Or the grand square before the Emperor’s palace
when new slaves are up for auction! And hot? Do you call this hot? In Ul-
Saffayn,inthefarsouthofGurkhul,itgets so hot during the summer months
thatyoucancookaneggonyourdoorstep.Truly!Thisway.”Heduckedthrough
thepassingcrowdstowardsanarrowsidestreet.“Thiswayisthequickest!”
Logencaughthimbythearm.“Downthere?”Hepeeredintothegloom.“You
sure?”
“Canyoudoubtit?”demandedLongfoot,suddenlyhorrified.“Canitbethat
youcoulddoubtit?Amongallmyremarkabletalents,itismyskillatnavigation
thatisparamount!Itisforthattalent,aboveall,thattheFirstoftheMagihas
made so generous a contribution to the coffers of the order! Could it be that
you… but wait.” He held up his hand and began to smile again, then tapped
Logenonthechestwithhisforefinger.“YoudonotknowBrotherLongfoot.Not
yet.Youarewatchfulandcautious,Iseeit,finequalitiesintheirplace.Icannot
expectyoutohavemyunshakeablefaithinmyabilities.No!Thatwouldnotbe
fair.Unfairnessisnotanadmirablequality.No!Unfairnessisnotmyway.”
“Imeant—”
“Ishallconvinceyou!”shoutedLongfoot.“IndeedIshall!Youwillcometo
trustmywordbeforeyourown!Yes!Thiswayisthequickest!”Andhestrode
offdown the dingyalleywaywith remarkable speed,Logenstruggling tokeep
upthoughhislegswereagoodhalf-footlonger.
“Ah,thebackstreets!”calledtheNavigatoroverhisshoulderastheypassed
down dark and grimy lanes, the buildings crowding in ever closer. “The back
streets, eh?” The alleys grew narrower, darker, and dirtier still. The little man
turned to the left and the right, never pausing for an instant to consider his
course. “Do you smell that? Do you smell that, Master Ninefingers? It smells
like…” he rubbed his thumbs and fingertips together as he strode along,
searchingforthewords“…mystery!Adventure!”
ItsmelledlikeshittoLogen.Amanlayonhisfaceinthegutter,deaddrunk
perhaps,ormaybesimplydead.Othermenpassedby,limpingandhaggard,or
standinginthreateninggroupsindoorways,handingroundbottles.Therewere
womenheretoo.
“FourmarksandI’llgiveyouablessing, Northman!”oneofthem calledto
Logenastheypassed.“Ablessingyouwon’tsoonforget!Three,then!”
“Whores,”whispered Longfoot,shaking hishead, “andcheaponestoo.You
likewomen?”
“Well—”
“YoushouldgotoUl-Nahbmyfriend!Ul-NahbontheshoresoftheSouthern
Sea!Youcouldbuyabed-slavethere.Indeedyoucould!Theycostafortune,but
theytrainthesegirlsforyears!”
“Youcanbuyagirl?”askedLogen,mystified.
“Boystoo,ifyourtastebendsthatway.”
“Eh?”
“Theytrainthemforyears,truly.It’sawholeindustrydownthere.Youwant
skilled?Doyou?Thesegirlshaveskillsyouwouldn’tbelieve!OrvisitSipani!
Thereareplacesinthatcity—phew!Thewomenarebeautiful,beautifulevery
one! Truly! Like princesses! And clean,” he muttered, peering at one of the
scruffywomenbytheroadside.
A bit of dirt didn’t bother Logen any. Skilled and beautiful all sounded too
complicated to him. One girl caught his eye as they passed, leaning against a
door-frame with one arm up. Watching them pass with a half-hearted smile.
Logen found her pretty, in a desperate sort of a way. Prettier than he was
anyway,andithadbeenalongtime.Youhavetoberealisticaboutthesethings.
Logenstoppedinthestreet.“Bayazwantedchange?”hemuttered.
“Hedid.Hewasmostspecificonthesubject.”
“There’smoneytospare,then?”
Longfootraisedoneeyebrow.“Well,perhaps,letmesee…”
Hepulledoutthepursewithaflourishandopenedit,rootingaroundinside.
Therewasaloudjinglingofcoins.
“You think that’s a good idea?” Logen glanced nervously up and down the
street.Severalfaceshadturnedtowardsthem.
“What’sthat?”askedtheNavigator,stillpokingaroundinthepurse.Hepulled
somecoinsout,holdingthemuptothelightandpeeringatthem,thenpressed
themintoLogen’spalm.
“Subtletyisn’toneofyourtalents,isit?”Someoftheshabbymeninthealley
began to move slowly, curiously towards them, two from in front, one from
behind.
“Noindeed!”laughedLongfoot.“Noindeed!Iamastraight-talkingman,that
is my way! Yes indeed! I am a… ah.” He had noticed the shadowy figures
sidlingtowardsthemnow.“Ah.Thisisunfortunate.Ohdear.”
Logenturnedtothegirl.“Doyoumindifwe…”Sheslammedthedoorshut
inhisface.Otherdoorsupanddownthestreetbegantoclose.“Shit.”hesaid.
“Howareyouatfighting?”
“Godhasseenfittoblessmewithmanyremarkabletalents,”murmuredthe
navigator,“butcombatisnotoneofthem.”
Oneofthemenhadanuglysquint.“That’sabigpurseforalittleman,”he
said,ashecameclose.
“Well,er…”murmuredLongfoot,creepingbehindLogen’sshoulder.
“Anawfulbigloadforalittlemantocarry,”saidtheother.
“Whynotletushelpyouwithit?”
Neither one of them had weapons ready, but by the way their hands were
movingLogenknewtheyhadthem.Therewasathirdmanbehindhimtoo,he
couldsensehimmovingforwardsnow.Close.Closerthantheothertwo.Ifhe
could deal with that one first, the one behind, his chances might be good. He
couldn’trisklookinground,thatwouldspoilthesurprise.He’dsimplyhaveto
hopeforthebest.Asalways.
Logengrittedhisteethandflunghiselbowbackwards.Ithitthemanbehind
inthejawwith a heavy crunch, and Logen caught his wrist inhisotherhand,
whichwaslucky,becausehehadaknifeoutandready.Logensmashedhimin
the mouth with his elbow again, tearing the blade from his limp fingers as he
dropped into the street, head smacking against the dirty cobbles. He whipped
round,halfexpectingtogetstabbedintheback,buttheothertwohadn’tmoved
too quick. They had knives of their own out, and one had taken a half-step
towardshim,buthepausedwhenhesawthatLogenhadthebladeup,readyto
fight.
It was a meagre kind of a weapon, six inches of rusty iron without even a
cross-piece,butitwasbetterthannothing.Alotbetter.Logenwaveditaroundin
theairinfrontofhim,justtomakesurethateveryonecouldseeit.Feltgood.
Hisoddsweremuchimproved.
“Rightthen,”saidLogen,“who’snext?”
Theothertwomovedapart,tryingtogettoeithersideofhim,weighingtheir
knivesintheirhands,buttheydidn’tseeminanygreatrushtocomeon.
“Wecantakehim!”whisperedthesquinter,buthisfrienddidn’tlooktoosure.
“Or,youcanhavethis.”Logenopeneduphisclenchedfist,showingthecoins
that Longfoot had given him. “And leave us be. This much I can spare.” He
swishedtheknifearoundabitmore,justtoaddsomeweighttohiswords.“This
iswhatyou’reworthtome—thismuch,nomore.What’sittobe?”
The one with the squint spat on the ground. “We can take him!” he hissed
again.“Yougofirst!”
“Youfuckinggo!”shoutedtheother.
“JusttakewhatI’moffering,”saidLogen,“thenwenoneofushavetogo.”
The one that he’d elbowed groaned and rolled over in the road, and the
reminder of his fate seemed to decide them. “Alright, you fucking northern
bastard,alright,we’lltakeit!”
Logengrinned.Hethoughtaboutthrowingthecoinsattheonewiththesquint
then stabbing him while he was distracted. That’s what he’d have done in his
youth, but he decided against. Why bother? Instead he opened his fingers and
tossedthemoneyintotheroadbehindhim,movingtowardsthenearestwall.He
andthetwothievescircledeachothercautiously,eachsteptakingthemcloserto
the coins and him closer to escape. Soon they’d swapped places, and Logen
backedawaydownthestreet,stillholdingtheknifeinfrontofhim.Whenthey
weretenpacesapartthetwomensquatteddownandbegantopickthescattered
coinsupfromtheground.
“I’mstillalive,”Logenwhisperedtohimselfashequickenedhispace.
Thathadbeenlucky,heknew.It’safoolwhothinksthatanyfightistoosmall
tobethedeathofhim,howevertoughheis.Luckythathecaughttheonebehind
justright.Lucky that theothertwo had been slow. Butthenhe’d always been
lucky with fights. Lucky at getting out of them alive. Not so lucky with the
gettingintothem.Still,hefeltgoodaboutthisday’swork.Gladhehadn’tkilled
anybody.
Logenfeltahandclaphimontheback,andhespanround,knifeattheready.
“Onlyme!”BrotherLongfoothelduphishands.Logenhadnearlyforgotten
the Navigator was there. He must have stayed behind him the whole time,
perfectly silent. “Well handled Master Ninefingers, well handled! Truly! I see
that you are not without some talents of your own! I am looking forward to
travellingwithyou,Iamindeed!Thedocksarethisway!”heshouted,already
movingoff.
Logen took one last look back at the two men, but they were still grubbing
around on the ground, so he threw the knife away and hurried to catch up to
Longfoot.“DoyouNavigatorsneverfight?”
“Some among us do, oh yes, with empty hands and weapons of all kinds.
Mostdeadly,someofthem,butnotI.No.Thatisnotmyway.”
“Never?”
“Never.Myskillslieelsewhere.”
“Iwouldhavethoughtyourtravelswouldbringyouacrossmanydangers.”
“They do,” said Longfoot brightly, “they do indeed. That is when my
remarkabletalentforhidingisatitsmostuseful.”
HerKindFightEverything
Night.Cold.Thesaltwindwaskeenonthehilltop,andFerro’sclotheswere
thin and ragged. She hugged her arms and hunched up her shoulders, staring
sourly down towards the sea. Dagoska was a cloud of pinprick lights in the
distance,huddledaroundthesteeprockbetweenthegreat,curvingbayandthe
glisteningocean.Hereyescouldmakeoutthevague,tinyshapesofwallsand
towers,blackagainstthedarksky,andthethinneckofdryearththatjoinedthe
citytotheland.Anisland,almost.BetweenthemandDagoskatherewerefires.
Campsaroundtheroads.Manycamps.
“Dagoska,”whisperedYulwei,perchedonarockbesideher.“Alittlesplinter
oftheUnion,stuckintoGurkhullikeathorn.AthornintheEmperor’spride.”
“Huh,”gruntedFerro,hunchinghershouldersstillfurther.
“Thecityiswatched.Manysoldiers.Morethanever.Itmightbedifficultto
deceivesomany.”
“Perhapsweshouldgoback,”shemutteredhopefully.
Theoldmanignoredher.“Theyarehereaswell.Morethanone.”
“Eaters?”
“Imustgocloser.Findawayin.Waithereforme.”Hepaused,waitingfor
hertoreply.“Youwillwait?”
“Alright!”shehissed,“alright,I’llwait!”
Yulweislippedoffhisrockandawaydowntheslope,paddingacrossthesoft
earth, almost invisible in the inky blackness. When the sound of his jingling
bangles had faded into the night, she turned away from the city, took a deep
breath,andscurrieddowntheslopesouthwards,backintoGurkhul.
NowFerrocouldrun.Fastasthewind,hoursatastretch.She’dspentalotof
timerunning.Whenshemadeittothebaseofthehillsheran,feetflyingacross
theopenground,breathcomingquickandfierce.Sheheardwaterbeyond,slid
down a bank and splashed into the shallows of a slow moving river. She
flounderedon,knee-deepinthecoldwater.
Lettheoldbastardtrackmethroughthis,shethought.
After a while she made a bundle of her weapons and held them above her
headassheswamacross,forcingagainstthecurrentwithonearm.Sheflapped
out on the other side and ran on along the bank, wiping the water from her
drippingface.
Time passed slowly and light began to creep into the sky. Morning was
coming.Theriverbabbledbesideher,hersandalsbeatingoutarapidrhythmin
thestubblygrass.Shelefttheriverbehind,runningonacrosstheflatlandscape,
turningnowfromblacktogrey.Aclumpofscrubbytreesloomedup.
Shecrashedbetweenthetrunksandslithereddownintothebushes,herbreath
rasping.Sheshiveredinthehalf-light,heartpoundinginherchest.Itwassilent
beyond the trees. Good. She reached inside her clothes and pulled out some
breadandastripofmeat,soggyfromtheswimbutstilledible.Shesmiled.She
hadbeenkeepinghalfofeverythingthatYulweigaveherforthelastfewdays.
“Stupid old bastard,” she chuckled to herself between choking mouthfuls,
“thoughthecouldgetthebetterofFerroMaljinn,didhe?”
Damnshewas thirsty. No helpforthatnow, she could findwaterlater. She
was tired though, very tired. Even Ferro got tired. She would rest here for a
moment,justamoment.Getthestrengthbackinthelegs,thenon,onto…she
twitched,annoyed.Shecouldthinkaboutthewherelater.Whereverwasbestfor
vengeance.Yes.
She crawled through the bushes, sat back against one of the trees. Her eyes
closedslowly,bythemselves.Justrestforamomentnow.Vengeancelater.
“Stupidoldbastard,”shemuttered.Herheaddroppedsideways.
“Brother!”
Ferrowokewithastart,headknockingagainstthetree.Itwaslight,toolight.
Another bright, hot day. How long had she been sleeping? “Brother!” A
woman’svoice,notfaroff.“Whereareyou?”
“Over here!” Ferro froze, every muscle tensing. A man’s voice, deep and
strong.Andclose.Sheheardhorse’shooves,movingslowly,severalhorses,and
near.
“Whatareyoudoing,brother?”
“She’s close!” shouted the man again. Ferro’s throat tightened. “I can smell
her!”Ferrofeltinthebushesforherweapons,shovedtheswordandtheknife
throughherbelt,tuckedtheotherknifeupherone,tornsleeve.“Icantasteher,
sister!She’sveryclose!”
“But where?” The woman’s voice drew nearer. “Do you think she can hear
us?”
“Perhapsshecan!”laughedtheman.“Areyouthere,Maljinn?”Shethrewher
quiveroverhershoulderandsnatchedupherbow.“Wearewaiting…”hesang,
gettingcloserstill,justbeyondthetreesnow.“Comeout,Maljinn,comeoutand
greetus…”
She bolted away, crashing through the bushes, sprinting across the open
groundwithdesperatespeed.
“Theresheis!”criedthewomanfrombehind.“Lookathergo!”
“Gether,then!”shoutedtheman.
The scrubby grassland stretched away unbroken before her. Nowhere to run
to.Shespanaroundwithasnarl,nockinganarrowtoherbow.Fourhorsemen
were spurring towards her, Gurkish soldiers, sun glinting on their tall helmets
andthe cruelheadsof their spears.Behind them,furtherback, were twoother
riders: a man and a woman. “Stop! In the name of the Emperor!” one of the
horsemenshouted.
“FuckyourEmperor!”Herarrowcaughtthefirstofthesoldiersthroughhis
neckandhetumbledbackwardsfromthesaddlewithashockedgurgle,hisspear
flyingoutofhishand.
“Goodshot!”criedthewoman.Thesecondridertookanarrowinhischest.
His breastplate slowed it, but it still went deep enough to kill. He screamed,
droppinghisswordinthegrass,clutchingattheshaft,rollinginthesaddle.
Thethirdneverevenmadeasound.Hegotoneinthemouth,atnomorethan
tenstridesaway.Thepointwentrightthroughhisskullandknockedhishelmet
off, but by then the fourth was on her. She threw the bow to the ground and
rolledawayasthesoldierthrustatherwithhisspear,thenshepulledthesword
fromherbelt,spittingonthegrass.
“Alive!”shoutedthewoman,nudgingherhorselazilyforwards.“Weneedher
alive!”
ThesoldierturnedhissnortingmountandurgeditcautiouslytowardsFerro.
He was a big man, with a thick growth of dark stubble on his jaw. “I hope
you’vemadeyourpeacewithGod,girl,”hesaid.
“FuckyourGod!”Shescuttledoutoftheway,dodging,moving,stayingclose
totheground.Thesoldierjabbedatherwithhisspear,keepingheratadistance,
hishorse’shoovespawingattheground,kickingdustinFerro’sface.
“Pokeher!”sheheardthewomanshoutingbehindher.
“Yes,pokeher!”criedherbrotherthroughhisgiggling.“Butnottoohard!We
want her alive!” The soldier snarled as he spurred his horse forward. Ferro
duckedandscrambledinfrontofitskickinglegs.Thespearpointjabbed,cutting
agashinherarm.Sheswungtheswordwithallherstrength.
The curved blade found the gap between the plates of the soldier’s armour,
tookhislegoffjustbelowthekneeandopenedahugewoundinthehorse’sside.
Man and beast screamed together, fell together to the ground. Dark blood
bubbledoutacrossthedirt.
“Shegothim!”Thewomansoundedmildlydisappointed.
“Up,man!”laughedherbrother,“upandather!There’sstillachance!”The
soldier thrashed on the ground. Ferro’s sword hacked into his face, putting a
sharp end to his screams. Nearby the second rider was still in his saddle, face
twisted, gasping his last breaths, hand clutched around the bloody shaft of her
arrow.His horseputits headdownand startednibblingatthedry grassbyits
hooves.
“That’sallofthem,”saidthewoman.
“Iknow.”Herbrothersigheddeep.“Mustonedoeverythingoneself?”
Ferro glanced up at them as she pushed the bloody sword back through her
belt. They were sitting carelessly on their horses not far off, the sun bright
behind them, smiles on their cruel, handsome faces. They were dressed like
lords,silkflappingroundtheminthebreeze,heavywithjewellery,butneither
onewasarmed.Ferroscrambledforherbow.
“Becareful,brother,”saidthewoman,examiningherfingernails.“Shefights
well.”
“Like a devil! But she is no match for me, sister, have no fear.” He sprang
downfromhissaddle.“Sothen,Maljinn,shallwe…”
Thearrowstuckhimthroughthechest,deepthrough,withahollowthud.
“…begin?” The shaft quivered, its point glittering behind him, dry and
bloodless.Hebegantowalktowardsher.Hernextarrowcaughthimthroughthe
shoulder,butheonlycameonfaster,breakingintoarun,boundingforwardwith
enormous strides. She dropped the bow, fingers fumbling for the grip of her
sword.Tooslow.Hisoutstretchedarmcaughtheracrossthechestwithterrible
force,slammingherintotheearth.
“Oh,welldone,brother!”Thewomanclappedherhandswithdelight.“Well
done!”
Ferro rolled coughing in the dust. She saw the man watching her as she
struggledtoherfeet,theswordclutchedinbothhands.Sheswungitathim,a
greatoverheadarc.Itbitdeepintotheearth.Somehowhehadalreadydanced
aside.Afootcameoutofnowhereandsankintoherstomach.Shedoubledover,
powerless,theairdrivenfromherbody.Herfingerstwitched,theswordwasleft
stuckintheground,herkneeswobbled.
“And now…” Something crunched into her nose. Her legs buckled and the
ground hit her hard in the back. She rolled groggily to her knees, the world
turningoveraroundher.Therewasbloodonherface.Sheblinkedandshookher
head,tryingtostoptheworldfromspinning.Themanwasmovingtowardsher,
tipping,blurry.He jerkedherarrowout of his chestandtossed it away. There
wasnoblood,justalittledust.Justdust,curlingintheair.
AnEater.Hehadtobe.
Ferrostumbledup,pullingtheknifefromherbelt.Shethrustathim,missed,
thrustagain,missedagain.Herheadwasswimming.Shescreamed,slashingat
himwithallhermight.
Hecaughtherwristinhishand.Theirfaceswerelessthanafootapart.His
skinwasperfect,smooth,likedarkglass.Helookedyoung,almostlikeachild,
buthiseyeswereold.Hardeyes.Hewatchedher—curious,amused,likeaboy
whofoundaninterestingbeetle.“Shedoesn’tgiveup,doesshe,sister?”
“Veryfierce!TheProphetwillbedelightedwithher!”
ThemansniffedatFerroandwrinkledhisnose.“Ugh.She’dbetterbewashed
first.”
She butted him in the face. His head snapped back but he only giggled. He
caughtherroundthethroatwithhisfreehand,shovedherouttoarm’slength.
She clawed at his face but his arm was too long, she couldn’t reach. He was
prising her fingers from the handle of the knife. His grip was iron around her
neck.Shecouldn’tbreathe.Shebaredherteeth,struggling,snarling,thrashing.
Allinvain.
“Alive,brother!Wewantheralive!”
“Alive,”murmuredtheman,“butnotunharmed.”
The woman giggled. Ferro’s feet left the ground, kicking at the air. She felt
one of her fingers snap and the knife dropped to the grass. The hand gripped
tighter round her neck, and she tore at it with broken nails. All in vain. The
brightworldbegantoturndark.
Ferroheardthewomanlaughing,faraway.Afaceswamoutofthedarkness,a
handstrokedFerro’scheek.Thefingersweresoft,warm,gentle.
“Bestill,child,”whisperedthewoman.Hereyesweredarkanddeep.Ferro
couldfeelherbreath,hotandfragrantonherface.“Youarehurt,youmustrest.
Bestillnow…sleep.”Ferro’slegswereheavyaslead.Shekickedweakly,one
lasttime,thenherbodysagged.Herheartbeatslow…
“Restnow.”Ferro’seyelidsbegantodroop,thewoman’sbeautifulfacegrew
blurred.
“Sleep.”Ferrobitdownhardonhertongue,andhermouthturnedsalty.
“Bestill.”Ferrospatbloodinthewoman’sface.
“Gah!”sheshoutedindisgust,wipingbloodfromhereyes.“Shefightsme!”
“Herkindfighteverything,”cametheman’svoice,justbehindFerro’sear.
“Now listen to me, whore!” hissed the woman, clutching Ferro’s jaw with
steelyfingersandyankingherfacethiswayandthat.“Youarecomingwithus!
Withus!Onewayoranother!Youhearme?”
“She goes nowhere.” Another voice, deep and mellow. It seemed familiar.
Ferro blinked, shook her head groggily. The woman had turned, looking at an
oldman,notfaraway.Yulwei.Hisbanglesjingledashepaddedsoftlyacrossthe
grass.“Areyoualive,Ferro?”
“Gugh,”shecroaked.
ThewomansneeredatYulwei.“Whoareyou,oldbastard?”
Yulweisighed.“Iamanoldbastard.”
“Get you gone, dog!” shouted the man. “We come from the Prophet. From
Khalulhimself!”
“Andshecomeswithus!”
Yulweilookedsad.“Icannotchangeyourminds?”
Theylaughedtogether.“Fool!”criedtheman.“Ourmindsneverchange!”He
letgoofoneofFerro’sarms,tookawarystepforwards,draggingherwithhim.
“Ashame,”saidYulwei,shakinghishead.“Iwouldhavehadyoucarrymy
respectstoKhalul.”
“TheProphetdoesnotwalkwiththelikesofyou,beggar!”
“Imightsurpriseyou.Wekneweachotherwell,longago.”
“Iwillgiveourmasteryourrespectsthen,”jeeredthewoman,“withthenews
ofyourrecentdeath!”Ferrotwistedherwrist,felttheknifedropintoherpalm.
“Oh,Khalulwouldenjoythatnews,buthewillnotreceiveityet.Thetwoof
youhavecursedyourselves.YouhavebrokentheSecondLaw.Youhaveeaten
thefleshofmen,andtheremustbeareckoning.”
“Oldfool!”sneeredthewoman.“Yourlawsdonotapplytous!”
Yulweislowlyshookhishead.“ThewordofEuzgovernsall.Therecanbeno
exceptions.Neitherone of you willleavethisplace alive.” The airaroundthe
old man shimmered, twisted, blurred. The woman gave a gurgle and dropped
suddenly to the earth, more than falling—melting, flopping, dark silk flapping
aroundhercollapsingbody.
“Sister!”ThemanletgoofFerro,sprangatYulwei,armsoutstretched.Hegot
no further than a stride. He gave a sudden, shrill scream and dropped to his
knees, clutching at his head. Ferro forced her stumbling feet forward, grabbed
hold of his hair with her broken hand and drove the knife into his neck. Dust
blewoutintothewind.Afountainofdust.Flamesflickeredaroundhismouth,
charringhislipsblack,lickingburninghotatherfingers.Shedroppedontopof
him,bearinghimbackontotheground,choking,snorting.Thebladeopenedup
hisstomach,scraped against his ribs,snappedoff in his chest. Firelickedout.
Fire and dust. She hacked at the body mindlessly with the broken knife, long
afterithadstoppedmoving.
Shefeltahandonhershoulder.“Heisdead,Ferro.Theybotharedead.”She
saw it was true. The man lay on his back, staring up at the sky, face charred
roundhisnoseandmouth,dustblowingfromthegapingwounds.
“Ikilledhim.”Hervoicecrackedandbrokeninherthroat.
“No,Ferro.I didthat.TheywereyoungEaters,weakandfoolish.Still,you
areluckytheywantedonlytocatchyou.”
“Iamlucky,”shemumbled,dribblingbloodyspitontotheEater’scorpse.She
droppedthebrokenknife,crawledawayonallfours.Thebodyofthewomanlay
nexttoher,ifyoucouldcallitthat.Ashapeless,lumpymassofflesh.Shesaw
longhair,andaneye,andlips.
“Whatdidyoudo?”shecroakedthroughherbloodymouth.
“Iturnedherbonestowater.Andburnedhimfromtheinside.Waterforone,
firefortheother.Whateverworks,fortheirkind.”Ferrorolledoveronthegrass,
lookedupatthebrightsky.Sheheldherhandinfrontofherface,shookit.One
ofherfingersfloppedbackandforth.
Yulwei’sfaceappearedabove,staringdownather.“Doesithurt?”
“No,”shewhispered,lettingherarmdropbacktotheearth.“Itneverdoes.”
SheblinkedupatYulwei.“Whydoesitneverhurt?”
Theoldmanfrowned.“Theywillnotstopseekingforyou,Ferro.Doyousee
now,whyyouhavetocomewithme?”
Shenoddedslowly.Theeffortwasimmense.“Isee,”shewhispered.“Isee…”
Theworldgrewdarkagain.
SheLovesMe…Not
“Ah!”criedJezal,asthepointofFilio’ssteeldughardintohisshoulder.He
stumbled back, wincing and cursing, and the Styrian smiled at him and
flourishedhissteels.
“AtouchtoMasterFilio!”bellowedthereferee.“That’stwoeach!”Therewas
somescatteredclappingasFiliostruttedbacktothecontestant’senclosurewith
anirritatingsmileacrosshisface.“Slipperybastard,”Jezalhissedtohimselfas
hefollowed.Heshouldhaveseenthatlungecoming.Hehadbeencareless,and
heknewit.
“Twoapiece?” hissedVaruz,asJezal floppeddownintohis chair,breathing
hard.“Twoapiece?Againstthisnobody?He’snotevenfromtheUnion!”
JezalknewbetterthantopointoutthatWestportwassupposedtobeapartof
theUnionthesedays.HeknewwhatVaruzmeant,andsodideveryoneelsein
thearena.Themanwasanoutsiderasfarastheywereconcerned.Hegrabbed
theclothfromWestsoutstretchedhandsandwipedhissweatyface.Fivetouches
wasalongmatch,butFiliolookedfarfromexhausted.Hewasspringingupand
downonhistoesasJezalglancedacross,noddinghisheadtothenoisyStyrian
advicespillingfromhistrainer.
“You can beat him!” West murmured, as he handed Jezal the water bottle.
“You can beathim,and then it’sthe final.”Thefinal. That meant Gorst.Jezal
wasn’tentirelysurehewantedanyofthat.
ButVaruzwasinnodoubt.“Justdamnwellbeathim!”hissedtheMarshal,as
Jezaltookaswigfromthebottle,swilleditroundinhismouth.“Justbeathim!”
Jezalspathalfoutintothebucketandswallowedtherest.Justbeathim.Easyto
say,buthewasadeviousbastard,thisStyrian.
“Youcandoit!”saidWestagain,rubbingJezal’sshoulder.“You’vecomethis
far!”
“Killhim!Justkillhim!”MarshalVaruzstaredintoJezal’seyes“Areyoua
nobody,CaptainLuthar? DidI waste mytime on you?Orare yousomebody?
Eh?Now’sthetimetodecide!”
“Gentlemen,please!”calledthereferee,“thedecidingtouch!”
Jezalblewouthard,tookhissteelsfromWest,gottohisfeet.Hecouldhear
Filio’s trainer shouting encouragements over the swelling noise of the crowd.
“Justkillhim!”shoutedVaruzonelasttime,thenJezalwasoffonhiswaytothe
circle.
Thedecidingtouch.Thedecider.Insomanyways.WhetherJezalwouldbein
the final or not. Whether he would be somebody or not. He was tired though,
verytired.Hehadbeenfencingsolidlyfornearlyhalfanhour,intheheat,and
thattakesitoutofyou.Hewassweatingagainalready.Hecouldfeelitleaking
outofhisfaceinbigdrops.
He moved towards his mark. A bit of chalk on some dry grass. Filio was
standing there waiting, still smiling, anticipating his triumph. The little shit. If
Gorstcouldclubthoseothersaroundthecircle,thensurelyJezalcouldgrindthis
fool’s faceinthe turf.He squeezed thegrips of hissteels andconcentratedon
that nauseating little smile. He wished for a moment that the steels weren’t
blunted,untilitoccurredtohimthathemightbetheonewhogotstabbed.
“Begin!”
Jezalsortedthroughhiscards,shufflingthemthiswayandthatinhishands,
barelyevenlookingatthesymbolsonthem,barelycaringwhetherhekeptthem
outofsightoftheothers.
“I’llraiseyouten,”saidKaspa,slidingsomecoinsacrossthetablewithalook
that said… oh, something probably, Jezal didn’t care what, he really wasn’t
concentrating.Therewasalengthypause.
“It’syourbet,Jezal,”grumbledJalenhorm.
“Itis?Oh,er…”Hescannedacrossthemeaninglesssymbols,unabletotake
anyofittooseriously.“Erm,oh…I’llfold.”Hetossedthecardsontothetable.
Hewasdowntoday,welldown,forthefirsttimeinhecouldn’trememberhow
long.Everprobably.HewastoobusythinkingaboutArdee:wonderinghowhe
couldbedherwithoutdoingeitheroneofthemlastingharm,mostparticularly
without his being killed by West. He was still no closer to an answer,
unfortunately.
Kaspa swept up the coins, smiling broadly at his most unlikely victory. “So
thatwaswellfoughttoday,Jezal.Acloseone,butyoucamethrough,eh?”
“Uh,”saidJezal.Hetookhispipefromthetable.
“Iswear,Ithoughthehadyouforaminutethere,butthen,”andhesnapped
his fingers under Brint’s nose, “just like that! Knocked him right over. The
crowdlovedit!IlaughedsohardInearlywetmyself,Iswear!”
“DoyoureckonyoucanbeatGorst?”askedJalenhorm.
“Uh.”Jezalshrugged,lightingthepipeandleaningbackinhischair,looking
upatthegreyskyandsuckingonthestem.
“Youseemprettycalmaboutitall,”saidBrint.
“Uh.”
Thethreeofficersglancedat each other, disappointed bythefailureof their
chosentopic.Kaspapickedanother.“HaveyoufellowsseenthePrincessTerez
yet?”
BrintandJalenhormsighedandgasped,thenthethreeofthemprattledtheir
gormlessappreciationofthewoman.“HaveIseenher?HaveIever!”
“TheycallherthejewelofTalins!”
“Therumoursdidn’tliewhereshe’sconcerned!”
“IhearthemarriagetoPrinceLadislaisafixedthing.”
“Theluckybastard!”Andsoon.
Jezalstayedwherehewas,satbackinhischair,blowingsmokeatthesky.He
wasn’tsosureaboutTerez,fromthelittlehe’dseen.Beautifulfromadistance,
nodoubt,butheimaginedthatherfacewouldfeellikeglasstothetouch:cold,
hardandbrittle.NothinglikeArdee’s…
“Still,”Jalenhormwasspouting,“Ihavetosay,Kaspa,myheartstillbelongs
to your cousin Ariss. Give me a Union girl any day over one of these
foreigners.”
“Giveyouhermoney,youmean,”murmuredJezal,headstilltippedback.
“No!” complained the big man. “She’s a perfect lady! Sweet, demure, well-
bred. Ah!” Jezal smiled to himself. If Terez was cold glass, then Ariss was a
deadfish.Kissingherwouldbelikekissinganoldrag,heimagined:limpand
tedious.Shecouldn’tkissthewayArdeedid.Noonecould…
“Well, they’re both of them beauties, no doubt,” Brint was blathering, “fine
womentodreamabout,ifdreamsareallyou’reafter…”Heleanedforwardtoa
conspiratorial distance, smirking shiftily round as though he had something
secret and exciting to say. The other two edged their chairs forward, but Jezal
stayedwherehewas.Hehadnointerestatallinhearingaboutwhateverwhore
thatidiotwasbedding.
“Have you met West’s sister?” murmured Brint. Jezal’s every muscle
stiffened. “She’s not the equal of those two of course, but she’s really quite
prettyinacommonsortofwayand…Ithinkshe’dbewilling.”Brintlickedhis
lips and nudged Jalenhorm in the ribs. The big man grinned guiltily like a
schoolboy at a dirty joke. “Oh yes, she strikes me as the willing type.” Kaspa
giggled. Jezal put his pipe down on the table, noticing that his hand was
tremblingslightly.Theotherwasgrippingthearmofhischairsohardthathis
knuckleswerewhite.
“Idodeclare,”saidBrint,“ifIdidn’tthinktheMajorwouldstickmewithhis
sword, I’d be tempted to stick his sister with mine, eh?” Jalenhorm spluttered
with laughter. Jezal felt one of his eyes twitching as Brint turned his smirk
towardshim.“Well,Jezal,whatdoyouthink?You’vemetherhaven’tyou?”
“WhatdoIthink?”Hisvoiceseemedtocomefromaterriblylongwayaway
ashestaredatthosethreegrinningfaces.“Ithinkyoushouldwatchyourmouth,
yousonofafuckingwhore.”
Hewasonhisfeetnow,teethgrittedsotighttogethertheyfeltliketheymight
crackapart.Thethreesmilesblinkedandfaded.JezalfeltKaspa’shandonhis
arm.“Comeon,heonlymeant—”
Jezal ripped his arm away, seized the edge of the table and flung it over.
Coins, cards, bottles, glasses, flew through the air and spilled out across the
grass. He had his sword in his other hand, still sheathed luckily, leaning right
downoverBrint,sprayingspitinhisface.“Nowyoufuckinglistentome,you
little bastard!” he snarled, “I hear anything more like that, anything, and you
won’thaveto worry about West!” He pressed thegripof his steel intoBrint’s
chest.“I’llcarveyoulikeafuckingchicken!”
The three men stared up at him, aghast, their mouths wide open, their
astonishmentatthissuddendisplayofviolenceequalledonlybyJezal’sown.
“But—”saidJalenhorm.
“What?”screamedJezal,seizingafistfulofthebigman’sjacketanddragging
himhalfoutofhischair.“Whatd’youfuckingsay?”
“Nothing,”hesqueaked,hishandsraised,“nothing.”Jezallethimdrop.The
furywasdrainingfast.Hehadhalfamindtoapologise,butwhenhesawBrint’s
ashenfaceallhecouldthinkofwas“shestrikesmeasthewillingtype”.
“Like!A! Fucking! Chicken!”he snarled again,thenturned onhisheel and
stalkedoff.Halfwaytothearchwayherealisedhehadlefthiscoatbehind,but
hecouldhardlygobackforitnow.Hemadeitintothedarknessofthetunnel,
tookacoupleofstepsdownitthensaggedagainstthewall,breathinghardand
tremblingasifhe’djustruntenmiles.Heunderstoodnowwhatitmeanttolose
one’stemper,andnomistake.Hehadneverevenrealisedthathehadonebefore,
buttherecouldbenodoubtnow.
“Whatthehellwas that about?” Brint’sshocked voice echoed quietly down
thetunnel,onlyjustaudibleoverthethumpingofJezal’sheart.Hehadtohold
hisbreathtohear.
“DamnedifIknow.”Jalenhorm,soundingevenmoresurprised.Therewasthe
rattle and scrape of the table being put straight. “Never knew he had such a
temper.”
“Isupposehemusthavealottothinkabout,”saidKaspa,uncertainly,“what
withtheContestandall…”
Brintcuthimoff.“That’snoexcuse!”
“Well they’re close, aren’t they? Him and West? What with all the fencing
togetherandwhathaveyou,maybeheknowsthesisterorsomething…Idon’t
know!”
“Thereisanotherexplanation,”JezalcouldhearBrintsaying,voicetenseas
thoughhewasabouttodeliverapunchline.“Perhapshe’sinlovewithher!”The
threeofthemburstoutlaughing.Itwasagoodjokealright.CaptainJezaldan
Luthar,inlove,andwithagirlwhosestationinlifewassofarbeneathhisown.
Whataridiculousidea!Whatanabsurdnotion!Whatajoke!
“Ohshit.”Jezalputhisheadinhishands.Hedidn’tfeellikelaughing.How
thehellhadshedonethistohim?How?Whatwasitabouther?Shewasfineto
lookat, of course, andclever,and funny, and allthosethings, but thatwasno
explanation.“Icannotseeheragain,”hewhisperedtohimself,“Iwillnot!”And
hethumpedhishandagainstthewall.Hisresolvewasiron.Italwayswas.
Untilthenextnotecameunderhisdoor.
Hegroanedandslappedthesideofhishead.Whydidhefeellikethis?Why
didhe…hecouldn’tevenbringhimselftothinktheword…likehersomuch?
Thenitcametohim.Heknewwhy.
Shedidn’tlikehim.
Those mocking half-smiles. Those sidelong glances he caught sometimes.
Those jokes that went just a little too close to the bone. Not to mention the
occasional examples of outright scorn. She liked his money, maybe. She liked
his position in the world, of course. She liked his looks, undoubtedly. But, in
essence,thewomandespisedhim.
And he’d never had that feeling before. He had always just assumed that
everybodylovedhim,hadneverreallyhad cause to doubt he was a fine man,
worthyofthehighestrespect.ButArdeedidn’tlikehim,hesawitnow,andthat
madehimthink.Apartfromthejaw,ofcourse,andthemoneyandtheclothes,
whatwastheretolike?
Shetreatedhimwiththecontemptheknewhedeserved.Andhecouldn’tget
enoughofit.“Strangestthing,”Jezalmumbledtohimself,slouchingmiserably
againstthewallofthetunnel.“Strangestthing.”
Itmadehimwanttochangehermind.
TheSeed
“Howareyou,Sand?”
Colonel Glokta opened his eyes. It was dark in the room. Damn it, he was
late!
“Damnit!”heshouted,shovingbackthecoversandleapingoutofbed.“I’m
late!” He snatched up his uniform trousers, shoving his legs in, fumbling with
hisbelt.
“Don’t worry about that, Sand!” His mother’s voice was half soothing, half
impatient.“WhereistheSeed?”
Gloktafrownedoverashepushedhisshirtin.“I’venotimeforthisnonsense,
mother! Why do you always think you know what’s best for me?” He cast
aroundhimforhissword,butcouldn’tseeit.“We’reatwaryouknow!”
“Weareindeed.”TheColonellookedup,surprised.ItwasthevoiceofArch
LectorSult.“Twowars.Onefoughtwithfireandsteel,andanotheronebeneath
—an old war, long years in the making.” Glokta frowned. How ever could he
have mistaken that old windbag for his mother? And what was he doing in
Glokta’s chambers in any case? Sitting in the chair at the foot of his bed,
prattlingaboutoldwars?
“Whatthehellareyoudoinginmychambers?”growledColonelGlokta,“and
whathaveyoudonewithmysword?”
“WhereistheSeed?”Awoman’svoicenow,butnothismother’s.Someone
else.Hedidnotrecogniseit.Hesquintedagainstthedarkness,strainingtosee
whowasinthechair.Hecouldmakeoutavagueoutline,buttheshadowswere
toodeeptotellmore.
“Whoareyou?”askedGloktasternly.
“WhowasI?OrwhatamI?”Thefigureinthechairshiftedasitroseslowly,
smoothly,fromitsseat.“Iwasapatientwoman,butIamwomannomore,and
thegrindingyearshavewornmypatiencethin.”
“Whatdoyouwant?”Glokta’svoicequivered,reedyandweakashebacked
away.
Thefiguremoved,steppingthroughtheshaftofmoonlightfromthewindow.
Awoman’sform,slenderandgraceful,butshadowsstucktotheface.Asudden
fearclawedathimandhestumbledbackagainstthewall,raisinghisarmtofend
thewomanoff.
“IwanttheSeed.”Apalehandsnakedoutandclosedaroundhisoutstretched
arm.Agentletouch,butcold.Coldasstone.Gloktatrembled,gasped,squeezed
shuthiseyes.“Ineedit.YoucannotknowtheneedIhave.Whereisit?”Fingers
pluckedathisclothes,quickanddeft,seeking,searching,dartinginhispockets,
inhisshirt,brushinghisskin.Cold.Coldasglass.
“TheSeed?”squeakedGlokta,halfparalysedwithterror.
“YouknowwhatIspeakof,brokenman.Whereisit?”
“The Maker fell…” he whispered. The words welled up, he knew not from
where.
“Iknowit.”
“…burning,burning…”
“Isawit.”Thefacewascloseenoughforhimtofeelthebreathuponhisskin.
Cold.Coldasfrost.
“…hebrokeuponthebridgebelow…”
“Irememberit.”
“…theysearchedfortheSeed…”
“Yes…” whispered the voice, urgent in his ear, “where is it?” Something
brushedagainsthisface,hischeek,hiseyelid,softand slimy.Atongue.Cold.
Coldasice.Hisfleshcrawled.
“Idon’tknow!Theycouldnotfindit!”
“Could not?” Fingers closed tight around his throat, squeezing, crushing,
chokingtheairfromhim.Cold.Coldasiron,andjustashard.“Youthinkyou
knowpain,brokenman?Youknownothing!”Theicybreathraspedinhisear,
theicyfingerssqueezed,squeezed.“ButIcanshowyou!Icanshowyou!”
Gloktascreamed,thrashed,struggled.Hefoughthiswayup,stoodforadizzy
instant,thenhislegbuckledandheplungedintospace.Thedarkroomtumbled
aroundhimandhecrashedtotheboardswithasickeningcrunch,hisarmfolded
beneathhim,hisforeheadcrackingagainstthefloor.
He struggled up, clawing at the leg of his bed, pushing himself against the
wall,snortingforbreath,staringwild-eyedtowardsthechair,yetbarelyableto
look for fear. A bar of moonlight spilled through the window, cut across the
rumpledbed-clothesandontothepolishedwoodoftheseat.Empty.
Glokta cast around the rest of the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness,
peeringintoeveryshadowycorner.Nothing.Empty.Adream.
Andnow,asthecrazyhammeringofhisheartrelaxed,ashisraggedbreathing
slowed, the pain came on. His head thumped, his leg screamed, his arm was
throbbingdully.Hecouldtasteblood,hiseyesstungandwept,hisgutsheaved,
sickandspinning.Hewhimpered,madeanagonisinghoptowardsthebed,then
collapsedonthemoonlitmattress,exhausted,wetwithcoldsweat.
Therewasanurgentknockingatthedoor.“Sir?Areyoualright?”Barnam’s
voice. The knocking came again. No good. It is locked. Always locked, but I
don’tthinkI’llbemoving.Frostwillhavetobreakitdown.Butthedoorswung
open, and Glokta shielded his eyes from the sudden ruddy glow of the old
servant’slamp.
“Areyoualright?”
“Ifell,”mumbledGlokta.“Myarm…”
Theoldservantperchedonthebed,takingGlokta’shandgentlyandpushing
upthesleeveofhisnight-shirt.Gloktawinced,Barnamclickedhistongue.His
forearmhadabigpinkmarkacrossit,alreadybeginningtoswellandredden.
“Idon’tthinkit’sbroken,”saidtheservant,“butIshouldfetchthesurgeon,
justincase.”
“Yes,yes.”HewavedBarnamawaywithhisgoodhand.“Fetchhim.”
Glokta watched the old servant hurry, stooped, out of the door, heard him
creakingalongthenarrowcorridoroutside,downthenarrowstairs.Heheardthe
frontdoorbangingshut.Silencedescended.
He looked over at the scroll he had taken from the Adeptus Historical, still
rolleduptightonthedresser,waitingtobedeliveredtoArchLectorSult.The
Makerfellburning.Hebrokeuponthebridgebelow.Strange,howpartsofthe
wakingworldstrayintoone’sdreams.ThatdamnedNorthmanandhisintruder.
Awoman,andcold.That’llbewhatsetmeoff.
Glokta rubbed his arm gently, pressing the sore flesh with his fingertips.
Nothing.Justadream.Andyetsomethingwasnigglingathim.Helookedover
atthebackofthedoor.Thekeywasstillinthelock,shiningorangeinthelight
fromthelamp.Notlocked,andyetImusthavelockedit.Musthave.Ialwaysdo.
Glokta looked back to the empty chair. What did that idiot apprentice say?
MagiccomesfromtheOtherSide.Theworldbelow.Hell.
Somehow, at that moment, after that dream, it did not seem so difficult to
believe.Thefearwasbuildinginhimagain,nowhewasalone.Hestretchedout
hisgoodhandtowardsthechair.Ittookanagetogetthere,trembling,shaking.
His fingers touched the wood. Cool, but not cold. Not cold. There is nothing
there.Heslowlywithdrewhishand,cradledhispulsingarm.Nothing.Empty.
Adream.
“Whatthehellhappenedtoyou?”
Gloktasuckedsourlyathisgums.“Felloutofbed.”Hescratchedabsentlyat
his wrist through the dressing. Until a moment ago it had been throbbing like
hell,butthesightinfrontofhimhadpushedthepainintothebackofhismind.I
couldbeworseoff.Alotworse.“Notaprettysight.Notatall.”
“You’re damn right it’s not.” Severard looked as disgusted as was possible
withhalfhisfacecovered.“InearlypukedwhenIfirstsawit.Me!”
Glokta peered down, frowning, at the tangled mess of butchery, supporting
himselfagainstatree-trunkwithonehandandpushingsomeofthefernsaside
withthetipofhiscanetogetabetterlook.“Areweevensureit’saman?”
“Mightbeawoman.Humananyway.That’safoot.”
“Ah,soitis.Howwasitfound?”
“Hefoundit.”Severardnoddedovertowardsagardener:satonthe ground,
pale-facedandstaring,andwithasmallpoolofdryingvomitonthegrassbeside
him. “In amongst the trees here, hidden in the bushes. Looks as if whatever
killed it tried to hide it, but not long ago. It’s fresh.” It is indeed—barely any
smell, and only a couple of flies have arrived. Very fresh, perhaps last night
even.“Itmightnothavebeenfoundfordays,exceptsomeoneaskedforoneof
these trees to be pruned. Blocking out the light or something. You ever see
anythinglikethis?”
Glokta shrugged. “In Angland, once, before you came. One of the convicts
tried to escape. He made it a few miles, then succumbed to the cold. A bear
madefreewiththecorpse.Thatwasquiteamess,thoughnotnearasbadasthis
one.”
“Ican’tseeanyonefreezingtodeathlastnight.Itwashotashell.”
“Mmm,”saidGlokta.Ifhellishot.I’vealwaysthoughtitmightbecold.Cold
asice.“TherearefewbearswithintheAgriontinanycase.Dowehaveanyidea
astotheidentityofthis…”hewavedhiscanetowardsthecarcass“…person?”
“None.”
“Isanyoneunaccountedfor?Reportedmissing?”
“NotthatI’veheard.”
“Sowehavenottheslightestideaevenwhoourvictimis?Whythehellare
wetakinganinterest?Don’twehaveafakeMagustobewatching?”
“That’s just it. Their new quarters are right over there.” Severard’s gloved
finger pointed out a building not twenty strides away. “I was watching them
whenthiscametolight.”
Gloktaraisedaneyebrow.“Isee.Andyoususpectsomeconnection,doyou?”
The Practical shrugged. “Mysterious intruders in the dead of night, gruesome
murdersontheirverydoorstep?Ourvisitorsdrawtroublelikeshitdrawsflies.”
“Huh,”saidSeverard,swattingaflyawaywithhisglovedhand.“Ilookedinto
thatotherthingaswell.Yourbankers.ValintandBalk.”
Gloktalookedup.“Really?And?”
“Andnotalot.Anoldhouse.Veryoldandverywellrespected.Theirnotes
are good as gold among the merchants. They’ve got offices all across
Midderland, Angland, Starikland, in Westport, in Dagoska. Even outside the
Union. Powerful people, by all accounts. All kind of folk owe them money, I
reckon.Strangethingthough,nooneseemsevertohavemetaValintoraBalk.
Whocantellwithbanksthough,eh?Theylovesecrets.Youwantmetodigany
more?”
Itcouldbedangerous.Verydangerous.Digtoofarandwemightbedigging
our own graves. “No. We’d better leave off. For now. Keep your ears open
though.”
“Myearsarealwaysopen,chief.SowhodoyoulikefortheContest?”
Glokta glanced across at the Practical. “How can you think about that with
thisinfrontofyou?”
The Practical shrugged. “It won’t do ’em any harm, will it?” Glokta looked
backatthemangledbody.Isupposeitwont,atthat.“Socomeon,youshould
know,LutharorGorst?”
“Gorst.”Ihopehecarvesthelittlebastardintwo.
“Really?Peoplesayhe’saclumsyox.Luckyisall.”
“Well, I say he’sa genius,” said Glokta. “In a coupleofyearsthey’llall be
fencinglikehim,ifyoucancallitfencing.Youmarkmywords.”
“Gorst,eh?MaybeI’llhavealittlebet.”
“Youdothat.Butinthemeantimeyou’dbetterscrapethismessupandtakeit
totheUniversity.GetFrosttogiveyouahand,he’sgotastrongstomach.”
“TheUniversity?”
“Wellwecan’tjustleaveithere.Somefashionableladytakingaturninthe
park could get an awful shock.” Severard giggled. “And I might just know of
someonewhocanshedsomelightonthislittlemystery.”
“Thisisquiteaninterestingdiscoveryyou’vemade,Inquisitor.”TheAdeptus
Physical paused in his work and peered over at Glokta, one eye enormously
magnified through his glittering eyeglass. “Quite a fascinating discovery,” he
muttered, as he returned to the corpse with his instruments: lifting, prodding,
twisting,squintingdownattheglisteningflesh.
Gloktapeeredroundthelaboratory,hislipcurlingwithdistaste.Jarsofmany
differentsizeslinedtwoofthefourwalls,filledwithfloating,pickledlumpsof
meat. Some of those floating things Glokta recognised as parts of the human
body, some he did not. Even he felt slightly uncomfortable in amongst the
macabredisplay.IwonderhowKandelaucamebythemall?Dohisvisitorsend
up dismembered, floating in a dozen different jars? Perhaps I would make an
interestingspecimen?
“Fascinating.”TheAdeptusloosenedthestrapofhiseye-glassandperchedit
on top of his head, rubbing at the pink ring it had left behind around his eye.
“Whatcanyoutellmeaboutit?”
Gloktafrowned.“Icameheretofindoutwhatyoucantellmeaboutit.”
“Ofcourse,ofcourse.”Kandelaupursedhislips.“Well,er,astothegenderof
ourunfortunatefriend,er…”hetrailedoff.
“Well?”
“Heh heh, well, er, the organs that would allow one to make an easy
determinationare…”andhegesturedatthemeatonthetable,harshlylitunder
theblazinglamps“…absent.”
“Andthatisthesumofyourinvestigation?”
“Well,thereareotherthings:aman’sthirdfingeristypicallylongerthanhis
first,notnecessarilysowithawomanbut,heh,ourremnantdoesnothaveallthe
digitsnecessarytomakesuchajudgement.Astogender,therefore,withoutthe
fingers, we are quite stumped!” He giggled nervously at his own joke. Glokta
didnot.
“Youngorold?”
“Well,er,againthatisquitedifficulttodetermine,Iamafraid.The,er,”and
the Adeptus tapped at the corpse with his tongs, “teeth here are in good
conditionand, heh, such skin as remainswouldappearto be consistent witha
youngerpersonbut,er,thisisreallyjust,hehheh—”
“Sowhatcanyoutellmeaboutthevictim?”
“Er,well…nothing.”Andhesmiledapologetically.“ButIhavemadesome
interestingdiscoveriesastothecauseofdeath!”
“Really?”
“Ohyes,look atthis!”I wouldrathernot. Gloktalimpedcautiouslyoverto
thebench,peeringdownatthespottheoldmanwasindicating.
“Youseehere?Theshapeofthiswound?”TheAdeptusproddedataflapof
gristle.
“NoIdonotsee,”saidGlokta.Itappearsalltobeoneenormouswoundto
me.
Theoldmanleanedtowardshim,hiseyeswide.“Human,”hesaid.
“Weknowthatitishuman!Thisisafoot!”
“No!No!Theseteethmarks,here…theyarehumanbites!”
Gloktafrowned.“Human…bites?”
“Absolutely!” Kandelau’s beaming smile was quite at odds with the
surroundings.Andwiththe subjectmatter, Iratherthink. “This individual was
bitten to death by another person, and, heh heh, in all likelihood,” and he
gestured triumphantly at the mess on his table, “considering the incomplete
natureoftheremains…partiallyeaten!”
Glokta stared at the old man for a moment. Eaten? Eaten? Why must every
question answered raise ten more? “This is what you would have me tell the
ArchLector?”
TheAdeptuslaughednervously.“Well,hehheh,thesearethefacts,asIsee
them…”
“A person, unidentified, perhaps a man, perhaps a woman, either young or
old,wasattackedintheparkbyanunknownassailant,bittentodeathwithintwo
hundredstridesoftheKing’spalaceandpartially…eaten?”
“Er…” Kandelau gave a worried glance sideways towards the entrance.
Gloktaturnedtolook,andfrowned.Therewasanewarrivalthere,onethathe
hadnotheardenter.Awoman,standingintheshadowsattheedgeofthebright
lamp-lightwithherarmsfolded.Atallwomanwithshort,spikyredhairanda
black mask on her face, staring at Glokta and the Adeptus through narrowed
eyes.APractical.ButnotoneIrecognise,andwomenarequiteararityinthe
Inquisition.Iwouldhavethought…
“Goodafternoon,goodafternoon!”Amansteppedbrisklythroughthedoor:
gaunt, balding, with a long black coat and a prim little smile on his face. An
unpleasantlyfamiliarman.Goyle,damnhim.OurnewSuperiorofAdua,arrived
atlast.Greatnews.“InquisitorGlokta,”hepurred,“whatanabsolutepleasureit
istoseeyouagain!”
“Likewise,SuperiorGoyle.”Youbastard.
Two other figures followed close behind the grinning Superior, making the
glaringlittleroomseemquitecrowded.Onewasadark-skinned,stockyKantic
withabiggoldenringthroughhisear,theotherwasamonsterofaNorthman
withafacelikeastoneslab.Healmosthadtostooptocramhimselfthroughthe
doorway.BothweremaskedanddressedfromheadtotoeinPracticalsblack.
“This is Practical Vitari,” chuckled Goyle, indicating the red-haired woman,
who had flowed over to the jars and was peering into them, one at a time,
tapping on the glass and making the specimens wobble. “And these are
PracticalsHalim,”theSouthernersidledpastGoyleandintotheroom,busyeyes
darting here and there, “and Byre.” The monstrous Northman gazed down at
Glokta from up near the ceiling. “In his own country they call him the Stone-
Splitter, would you believe, but I don’t think that would work here, do you
Glokta?PracticalStone-Splitter,canyouimagine?”Helaughedsoftlytohimself
andshookhishead.
AndthisistheInquisition?Ihadnoideathecircuswasintown.Iwonderif
theystandoneachother’sshoulders?Orjumpthroughflaminghoops?
“Aremarkablydiverseselection,”saidGlokta.
“Ohyes,”laughedGoyle,“Ihavepickedthemupwherevermytravelshave
takenme,ehmyfriends?”
The woman shrugged as she prowled around the jars. The dark-skinned
Practicalinclinedhishead.ThetoweringNorthmansimplystoodthere.
“Wherever my travels have taken me!” chuckled Goyle, just as though
everyoneelsehadlaughedwithhim.“AndIhavemorebesides!It’sbeenquitea
time,Idodeclare!”Hewipedatearofmirthfromhiseyeashemovedtowards
the table in the centre of the room. It seemed that everything was a source of
amusementtohim,eventhething on the bench. “But what’sallthis? Abody,
unless I’m quite mistaken!” Goyle looked up sharply, his eyes sparkling. “A
body?Adeathwithinthecity?AsSuperiorofAdua,surelythatfallswithinmy
province?”
Glokta bowed. “Naturally. I was not aware that you had arrived, Superior
Goyle.Also,Ifeltthattheunusualcircumstancesofthis—”
“Unusual?Iseenothingunusual.”Gloktapaused.Whatgameisthischuckling
foolplaying?
“Surelyyouwouldagreethattheviolencehereis…exceptional.”
Goylegaveaflamboyantshrug.“Dogs.”
“Dogs?”askedGlokta,unabletoletthatonepass.“Domesticpetsrunmad,do
youthink,orwildoneswhichclimbedoverthewalls?”
The Superior only smiled. “Whichever you like, Inquisitor. Whichever you
like.”
“I’m afraid it could not possibly be dogs,” the Adeptus Physical began
pompouslytoexplain.“IwasonlyjustmakingcleartoInquisitorGlokta…these
marks here, and on the skin here, do you see? These are human bites,
undoubtedly…”
The woman sauntered away from the jars, closer and closer to Kandelau,
leaningintowardshimuntilhermaskwasonlyinchesawayfromhisbeakofa
nose.Heslowlytrailedoff.“Dogs,”shewhispered,thenbarkedinhisface.
TheAdeptusjumpedaway.“Well,IsupposeIcouldhavebeenmistaken…of
course…”HebackedintotheenormousNorthman’schest,whohadmovedwith
surprising speed to position himself directly behind. Kandelau turned slowly
around,staringupwithwideeyes.
“Dogs,”intonedthegiant.
“Dogs,dogs,dogs,”hummedthesouthernerinathickaccent.
“Ofcourse,”squeakedKandelau,“dogs,ofcourse,howfoolishI’vebeen!”
“Dogs!”shoutedGoyleindelight,throwinghishandsintheair.“Themystery
issolved!”ToGlokta’samazement,twoofthethreePracticalsbeganpolitelyto
applaud.Thewomanstayedsilent.IneverbelievedthatIwouldmissSuperior
Kalyne,butsuddenlyIamovercomewithnostalgia.Goyleturnedslowlyround,
bowinglow.“Myfirstdayhere,andalreadyIwarmtothework!Youcanbury
this,” he said, gesturing to the corpse and smiling broadly at the cringing
Adeptus.“Bestburied,eh?”HelookedoverattheNorthman.“Backtothemud,
asyousayinyourcountry!”
ThemassivePracticalshowednottheslightestsignthatanyonehadspoken.
TheKanticwasstandingthere,turningtheringthroughhisearroundandround.
Thewomanwaspeeringdownatthecarcassonthetable,sniffingatitthrough
her mask. The Adeptus Physical was backed up against his jars, sweating
profusely.
Enough of this pantomime. I have work to do. “Well,” said Glokta stiffly,
limpingforthedoor,“themysteryissolved.Youdon’tneedmeanymore.”
Superior Goyle turned to look at him, his good humour suddenly vanished.
“No!”hehissed,furiouslittleeyesnearlypoppingoutofhishead.“Wedon’t…
needyou…anymore!”
NeverBetAgainstaMagus
Logen sat in the hot sun, hunched over on his bench, and sweated. The
ridiculousclothesdidnothelpwiththesweating,orindeedwithanythingelse.
The tunic had not been designed to sit down in, and the stiff leather dug
painfullyintohisfruitswheneverhetriedtomove.
“Fuckingthing,”hegrowled,tuggingatitforthetwentiethtime.Quailooked
hardly more comfortable in his magical garb—the glittering of the gold and
silversymbolsonlyservedtomakehisfacelookthemoreillandpallid,hiseyes
themore twitchyandbulging. He’dhardlyspoken a wordall morning. Ofthe
threeofthem,onlyBayazappearedtobeenjoyinghimself,beamingroundatthe
surgingcrowdsonthebenches,thesunlightshiningoffhistannedpate.
Theystoodoutamongtheheavingaudiencelikewell-rottedfruit,andseemed
aboutaspopular.Eventhoughthebencheswerepackedshouldertoshouldera
small,nervousspacehadbuiltuparoundthethreeofthemwherenoonewould
sit.
Thenoisewasevenmorecrushingthantheheatandthecrowds.Logen’sears
hummedwiththedin. It was the most he could do to keepfromclampinghis
handsoverthemandthrowinghimselfunderthebenchforcover.Bayazleaned
towardshim.“Wasthiswhatyourduelswerelike?”Hehadtoshouteventhough
hismouthwasbarelysixinchesfromLogen’sear.
“Huh.”EvenwhenLogenhadfoughtRuddThreetrees,whenagoodpartof
Bethod’s army had drawn up in a great half-circle to watch, shouting and
screamingandhammeringtheirweaponsagainsttheirshields,whenthewallsof
Uffrithabovethemhadbeencrammedwithonlookers,hisaudiencehadnotbeen
halfthissize,nothalfthisnoisy.Nomorethanthirtymenhadwatchedhimkill
Shama Heartless, kill him then butcher him like a pig. Logen winced and
flinched and hunched his shoulders higher at the memory of it. Cutting, and
cutting, and licking the blood from his fingers, while the Dogman stared in
horrorandBethodlaughedandcheeredhimon.Hecouldtastethebloodnow,
andheshudderedandwipedhismouth.
Therehadbeensomanyfewerpeople,andyetthestakeshadbeensomuch
higher. The lives of the fighters, for one thing, and the ownership of land, of
villages,of towns,thefutures ofwholeclans. Whenhe’dfought Tul Duru,no
morethanahundredhadwatched,butperhapsthewholefateoftheNorthhad
turnedonthatbloodyhalfhour.Ifhe’dlostthen,iftheThunderheadhadkilled
him,wouldthingsbethesame?IfBlackDow,orHardingGrim,oranyofthose
othershadputhiminthemud,wouldBethodhaveagoldenchainnow,andcall
himselfaKing?WouldthisUnionbeatwarwiththeNorth?Thethoughtmade
hisheadhurt.Evenmore.
“Youalright?”askedBayaz.
“Mmm,”Logenmumbled,buthewasshivering,evenintheheat.Whatwere
all these people here for? Only to be amused. Few could’ve found Logen’s
battles very amusing, except Bethod, perhaps. Few others. “This isn’t like my
fights,”hemutteredtohimself.
“What’sthat?”askedBayaz.
“Nothing.”
“Uh.”Theoldmanbeamedaroundatthecrowd,scratchingathisshortgrey
beard.“Whodoyouthinkwillwin?”
Logenreallydidn’tmuchcare,buthereckonedthatanydistractionfromhis
memories was welcome. He peered into the enclosures where the two fighters
were getting ready, not far from where he was sitting. The handsome, proud
young man they’d met at the gate was one of them. The other was heavy and
powerful-looking,withathickneckandalookalmostbored.
Heshruggedhisshoulders.“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthisbusiness.”
“What, you? The Bloody-Nine? A champion who fought and won ten
challenges? The most feared man in the North? No opinion? Surely single
combatisthesametheworldover!”
Logenwincedandlickedhislips.TheBloody-Nine.Thatwasfarinthepast,
butnotfarenoughforhisliking.Hismouthstilltastedlikemetal,likesalt,like
blood.Touchingamanwithaswordandcuttinghimopenwithonearehardly
thesamethings,buthelookedthetwoopponentsoveragain.Theproudyoung
manrolleduphissleeves,touchedhistoes,swivelledhisbodythiswayandthat,
swung his arms round in quick windmills, watched by a stern old soldier in a
spotless red uniform. A tall, worried-looking man handed the fighter two thin
swords,onelongerthantheother,andhewhiskedthemaroundbeforehiminthe
airwithimpressivespeed,bladesflashing.
His opponent stood there, leaning against the wooden side of his enclosure,
stretching his bull neck from side to side without much hurry, glancing round
withlazyeyes.
“Who’swho?”askedLogen.
“The pompous ass from the gate is Luthar. The one who’s half asleep is
Gorst.”
Itwasplainwhothecrowdpreferred.Luthar’snamecouldbeheardoftenin
thedin,andwhoopsandclapsgreetedeverymovementofhisthinswords.He
looked quick, and deft, and clever, but there was something deadly in that big
man’swaitingslouch,somethingdarkabouthisheavy-liddedeyes.Logenwould
ratherhavefoughtLuthar,forallhisspeed.“IreckonGorst.”
“Gorst,really?”Bayaz’eyessparkled.“Howaboutalittlebet?”
LogenheardasharpsuckofbreathfromQuai.“NeverbetagainstaMagus,”
whisperedtheapprentice.
Itdidn’tseemtomakemuchdifferencetoLogen.“WhatthehellhaveIgotto
betwith?”
Bayazshrugged.“Well,let’sjustsayforhonourthen?”
“Ifyoulike.”Logenhadneverhadtoomuchofthat,andthelittlehedidhave
hedidn’tcareaboutlosing.
“BremerdanGorst!”Thescatteredclappingwassmotheredbyanavalanche
ofhissesandboosasthegreatoxshambledtowardshismark,half-closedeyes
ontheground,big,heavysteelsdanglingfromhisbig,heavyhands.Betweenhis
short-croppedhairandthecollarofhisshirt,wherehisneckshouldhavebeen,
therewasnothingbutathickfoldofmuscle.
“Ugly bastard,” Jezal murmured to himself, as he watched him go. “Damn
idiotuglybastard.”Buthiscurseslackedconviction,eventohisownear.Hehad
watchedthatmanfightthreeboutsanddemolishthreegoodopponents.Oneof
themhadstilltoleavehissickbedaweeklater.Jezalhadbeentrainingforthe
lastfewdaysspecificallytocounterGorst’sbludgeoningstyle:VaruzandWest
swinging big broom handles at him while he dodged this way and that. More
thanonceoneofthemhadmadecontact,andJezalwasstillsmartingfromthe
bruises.
“Gorst?” offered the referee plaintively, doing his best to wheedle some
applause from the audience, but they were having none of it. The boos only
becamelouder,joinedbyjeersandhecklingasGorsttookhismark.
“Youclumsyox!”
“Getbacktoyourfarmandpullaplough!”
“Bremerthebrute!”andothersuch.
Thepeoplestretchedback,andback,andbackintoobscurity.Everyonewas
there.Everyoneintheworld,itlookedlike.Everycommonerinthecityround
the distant edges. Every gentleman, artisan and trader thronging the middle
benches.EverynoblemanorwomanintheAgrionttowardsthefront,fromfifth
sons of high-born nobodies to the great magnates of the Open and Closed
Councils. The Royal box was full: the Queen, the two Princes, Lord Hoff, the
PrincessTerez.TheKingevenappearedtobeawakeforonce,trulyanhonour,
his goggling eyes staring around in amazement. Out there somewhere were
Jezal’s father and his brothers, his friends and fellow officers, his entire
acquaintance,moreorless.Ardeetoo,hehoped,watching…
Allinall,itwasquiteanaudience.
“Jezal dan Luthar!” bellowed the referee. The meaningless bibble-babble of
thecrowdsurgedinto a storm of cheering,athunderouswave of support. The
criesandshoutsrangandechoedaroundthearena,makingJezal’sheadthrob.
“Comeon,Luthar!”
“Luthar!”
“Killthebastard!”andothersuch.
“Offyougo,Jezal,”whisperedMarshalVaruzinhisear,clappinghimonthe
backandpushinghimgentlyouttowardsthecircle,“andgoodluck!”
Jezal walked in a daze, the noise of the crowd punching at his ears until it
seemedhisheadwouldsplit.Thetrainingofthelastfewmonthsflashedthrough
his mind. The running, the swimming, the work with the heavy bar. The
sparring,thebeam,theendlessforms.Thepunishment,thestudy,thesweating
andthepain.Justsohecouldstandhere.Seventouches.Thefirsttofour.Itall
camedowntothis.
He took his mark opposite Gorst, and stared into those heavy-lidded eyes.
Theylookedback,coolandcalm,seemingalmosttostarepasthimasthoughhe
wasn’tthere.Thatneedledhimandhepushedthethoughtsoutofhisheadand
raisedhighhisnoblechin.Hewouldnot,couldnot,letthisoafgetthebetterof
him.Hewouldshowallthesepeoplehisblood,andhisskill,andhismettle.He
wasJezaldanLuthar.Hewouldwin.Itwasanincontestablefact.Heknewit.
“Begin!”
Thefirstcutsenthimreeling,shatteringhisconfidence,hispoise,andnearly
hiswrist.HehadbeenwatchingGorstfence,ofcourse,ifyoucouldcallitthat,
soheknewthemanwouldcomeoutswinging,butnothingcouldhaveprepared
himforthatfirstshatteringcontact.Thecrowdgaspedwithhimashestaggered
back.Allhiscarefullylaidplans,allofVaruz’carefullywordedadvice,vanished
intoair.Hewincedwithpainandshock,hisarmstillvibratingfromtheforceof
thatmightyblow,hisearsstillringingfromthecrashingnoiseofit,hismouth
hangingopen,hiskneeswobbling.
Itwashardlythemostpromisingstart,butthenextchopfollowedhardafter
the first, flashing down with even greater power. Jezal leaped aside and slid
away,tryingtomakeroomandgivehimselftime.Timetoworkoutsometactic,
sometricktostemthepitilesstideofswingingmetal.ButGorstwasnotaboutto
give him time. He was already loosing another throaty growl, his long steel
alreadybegunonitsnextirresistiblearc.
Jezal dodged where he could, blocked where he couldn’t, his wrists already
achingfromtheceaselesspunishment.TobeginwithhehopedthatGorstwould
tire.Noonecouldthrowthosegreatlumpsofmetalaroundforlongthewaythat
he was doing. Soon the fierce pace would take its toll on the big man and he
wouldslow,anddroop,andtheheavysteelswouldlosetheirvenom.ThenJezal
wouldfightbackdoggedly,runhisopponentragged,andwin.Thecrowdwould
cracktheAgriontwiththeircheers.Aclassictaleofvictoryagainsttheodds.
OnlyGorst didnottire. Themanwas amachine.After afew minutes there
was still not the slightest sign of weariness in those heavy-lidded eyes. There
was barely any emotion of any kind that Jezal could see, during the rare
momentswhenhedaredtotakehiseyesawayfromtheflashingswords.Thebig
long steel swung, swung, swung in its brutal circles, and the short steel was
always there to turn away such feeble efforts as Jezal could make in between,
never faltering or dropping even an inch. The power of the blows did not
decrease,thegrowlstorefromGorst’sthroatwithasmuchvigourasever.The
crowdweregivennothingtocheerat,andmerelymutteredangrily.ItwasJezal
who began to feel his legs slowing, to feel the sweat springing out of his
forehead,tofeelhisgriponhissteelsslipping.
Hesawitcomingfromamileaway,buttherewasnothinghecoulddoabout
it.Hehadbackedoffuntilheranoutofcircle.Hehadblockedandparrieduntil
helostthefeelinginhisfingers.Thistime,whenheraisedhisachingarmand
there was the crash of metal on metal, one tired foot slipped and he tumbled
squawkingfromthering,flounderingonhisside,hisshortsteelspinningfrom
his twitching fingers. His face slapped against the ground and he took a gritty
mouthfulofsand.Itwasapainfulandembarrassingfall,buthefelttootiredand
too battered to be all that disappointed. He was almost relieved that the
punishmentwasover,ifonlyforamoment.
“OnetoGorst!”shoutedthereferee.Alightdustingofapplausewascrushed
beneathhootsofderision,butthebigmanseemedscarcelytonotice,shuffling
backtohismarkwithhisheaddownandalreadypreparingforthenexttouch.
Jezal rolled slowly onto his hands and knees, flexing his aching hands and
takinghistimegettingup.Heneededamomenttobreatheandmakeready,to
thinkupsomestrategy.Gorstwaitedforhim:big,silent,still.Jezalbrushedthe
sandfromhisshirt,mindracing.Howtobeathim?How?Hesteppedcautiously
backtohismark,raisedhissteels.
“Begin!”
This time Gorst came out even harder, slashing away as if he was scything
wheat,makingJezaldancearoundthecircle.Oneblowpassedsoclosetohisleft
sidethathecouldfeelthewindfromitonhischeek.Thenextmissedhimbya
marginnogreateronhisright.ThenGorstflungasidewayssweepaimedathis
headandJezalsawanopening.Heduckedbeneathit,surethebladetoreatthe
hairsontopofhisscalp.Heclosedthedistanceastheheavylongsteelswung
away,almostcatchingtherefereeinthefaceontheback-swing,leavingGorst’s
rightsideallbutundefended.
Jezallunged atthebig bastard,surehe had finallygot through, knowinghe
hadmadeitonetouchapiece.ButGorstcaughtthethrustonhisshortsteeland
forceditjustwide,theguardsofthetwobladesscrapingthenlockingtogether.
JezalcutathimviciouslywithhisshortsteelbutsomehowGorstblockedthat
too,bringinguphisotherswordjustintime,catchingJezal’sbladeandholding
itjustshortofhischest.
Foramomenttheirfoursteelswerelockedtogether,hiltsgrating,theirfaces
justafewinchesapart.Jezalwassnarlinglikeadog,teethbared,themusclesof
his face a rigid mask. Gorst’s heavy features showed little sign of effort. He
lookedlikeamanhavingapiss:involvedinamundaneand faintlydistasteful
taskthatmustsimplybedonewithasquicklyaspossible.
For a moment their blades were locked together, Jezal pushing with every
grain of strength, each hard-trained muscle flexing: legs straining against the
ground, stomach straining to twist his arms, arms straining to push his hands,
handsgrippedaroundthehiltsofhissteelslikegrimdeath.Everymuscle,every
sinew, every tendon. He knew he had the better position, the big man was off
balance,ifonlyhecouldpushhimbackastep…aninch…
For that moment their steels were locked together, then Gorst dipped his
shoulder,andgrunted,andflungJezalawayasachildmightflingawayaboring
toy.
Hetumbledback,mouthandeyeswideopenwithsurprise,feetkickingatthe
dirt,allhisattentionfocusedonstayingupright.HeheardGorstgrowlagain,and
wasshockedtoseetheheavylongsteelalreadycurvingthroughtheairtowards
him.Hewasinnopositiontododge,andtherewasnotimeanyway.Heraised
hisleftarmonaninstinct,butthethick,bluntedbladetorehisshortsteelaway
likeastrawonthewindandcrashedintohisribs,hammeringthebreathfromhis
body in a wail of pain that echoed round and round the silent arena. His legs
crumpledunderhimandhesprawledoutontheturf,limbsflopping,sighinglike
asplitbellows.
Thistimetherewasnoteventheshadowofapplause.Thecrowdroaredtheir
hatred,booingandhissingatGorstforalltheywereworthashetrudgedbackto
hisenclosure.
“Damnyou,Gorst,youthug!”
“GetupLuthar!Upandathim!”
“Gohome,youbrute!”
“Youdamnsavage!”
Theirhissesturned to half-hearted cheers as Jezalpickedhimselfup offthe
grass,hiswholeleftsidepulsing.Hewouldhavescreamedwiththepainifhe
hadanybreathleftinhim.Forallhiseffort,forallhistraining,hewasutterly
outclassedandheknewit.Thethoughtofdoingitallagainnextyearmadehim
wanttovomit.Hedidhisbesttoappearundauntedashestruggledbacktohis
enclosure,buthecouldnothelpsaggingdownheavilyinhischairwhenhegot
there,droppinghisnotchedsteelsontheflagsandgaspingforbreath.
Westbentoverhimandpulleduphisshirttocheckthedamage.Jezalpeered
downgingerly,halfexpectingtoseeagreatholecavedinhisside,buttherewas
onlyanuglyredweltacrosshisribs,somebruisingalreadycominguparoundit.
“Anythingbroken?”askedMarshalVaruz,peeringoverWest’sshoulder.
JezalfoughtbackthetearsastheMajorprobedhisside.“Idon’tthinkso,but
damn it!” West threw his towel down in disgust. “You call this the beautiful
sport?Istherenoruleagainsttheseheavysteels?”
Varuzshookhisheadgrimly.“Theyallhavetobethesamelength,butthere’s
norulefortheweight.Imean,whywouldanyonewantheavyones?”
“Nowwe know, don’twe!”snappedWest.“Areyou sureweshouldn’tstop
thisbeforethatbastardtakeshisheadoff?”
Varuzignoredhim.“Nowlookhere,”saidtheoldMarshal,leaningdownto
talk in Jezal’s face. “It’s the best of seven touches! First to four! There’s still
time!”
Time for what? For Jezal to get cut in half, blunted steels or no? “He’s too
strong!”Jezalgasped.
“Toostrong?Noone’stoostrongforyou!”ButevenVaruzlookeddoubtful.
“There’s still time! You can beat him!” The old Marshal tugged at his
moustaches.“Youcanbeathim!”
ButJezalnoticedhedidnotsuggesthow.
Gloktawasbecomingworriedhemightchoke,soconvulsivewashislaughter.
HetriedtothinkofsomethinghewouldratherseethanJezaldanLutharbeing
smashedaroundafencingcircle,andfailed.Theyoungmanwincedashejust
barely blocked a raking cut. He had not been handling his left side at all well
sincehetookthatblowintheribs,andGloktacouldalmostfeelhispain.And
my, my, how nice it is to feel someone else’s for a change. The crowd sulked,
silent and brooding as Gorst harried their favourite around with his brutal
slashes,whileGloktasplutteredgigglesthroughhisclenchedgums.
Luthar was quick and flashy, and he moved well once he saw the steels
coming. A competent fighter. Good enough to win a Contest, no doubt, in a
mediocre year. Quick feet, and quick hands, but his mind is not as sharp as it
shouldbe.Asitneedstobe.Heistoopredictable.
Gorst was an entirely different proposition. He seemed to be swinging, and
swinging,withoutathoughtinhishead.ButGloktaknewbetter.Hehasawhole
newway ofdoingthings. Itwas alljab,jab inmy day.Bynextyear’s Contest
they’llallbechoppingawaywiththesebig,heavysteels.Gloktawonderedidly
ifhecouldhavebeatenGorst,athisbest.Itwouldhavebeenaboutworthseeing
anyway—adamnsightbetterthanthismismatch.
Gorst easily dealt with a couple of limp jabs, then Glokta winced and the
crowdhissedasLutharjustbarelyparriedanothergreatbutcher’schop,theforce
of it nearly lifting him off his feet. He had no way to avoid the next swing,
pressedagainsttheedgeofthecircleashewas,andhewasforcedtojumpback
intothesand.
“Threetonothing!”shoutedthereferee.
Glokta shook with merriment as he watched Luthar chop at the ground in
frustration,sendingupapetulantsprayofsand,hisfaceapictureofpaleself-
pity. Dear me, Captain Luthar, it will be four to nothing. A whitewash. An
embarrassment. Perhaps this will teach that whining little shit some humility.
Somemenarebetteroffforagoodbeating.Onlylookatme,eh?
“Begin!”
Thefourthtouchbeganpreciselyasthethirdhadended.WithLuthartakinga
hammering. Glokta could see it, the man was out of ideas. His left arm was
movingslowly,painfully,hisfeetlookedheavy.Anothernumbingblowcrashed
againsthislongsteel,makinghimstumblebacktowardstheedgeofthecircle,
off-balance and gasping. Gorst needed only to press his attack a little further.
And something tells me he is not the man to let up when he’s ahead. Glokta
grabbedhiscane,pushedhimselftohisfeet.Anyonecouldseeitwasallover,
andhehadnowishtobecaughtinthecrushasthedisappointedcrowdsalltried
toleaveatonce.
Gorst’sheavylongsteelflasheddownthroughtheair.Thefinalblow,surely.
Luthar’s only choice was to try and block it and be knocked clean out of the
circle.Oritmightjustsplithisfathead.Wecanhopeforthat.Gloktasmiled,
halfturnedtoleave.
Butoutofthecornerofhiseye,somehow,hesawthecutmiss.Gorstblinked
ashisheavylongsteelthuddedintotheturf,thengruntedasLutharcaughthim
acrossthelegwithaleft-handedcut.Itwasthemostemotionhehadshownall
day.
“One to Luthar!” shouted the referee after a brief pause, unable to entirely
keeptheamazementoutofhisvoice.
“No,” murmured Glokta to himself, as the crowd around him erupted into
riotous applause. No. He had fought hundreds of touches in his youth, and
watchedthousandsmore,buthehad neverseenanything quitelikethat,never
seenanyonemovesoquickly.Lutharwasagoodswordsman,heknewit.Butno
oneisthatgood.Hefrownedashewatchedthetwofinalistscomeoutfromtheir
secondbreakandtaketheirmarks.
“Begin!”
Lutharwastransformed.HeharriedGorstwithfurious,lightningjabs,giving
himnotimetogetstarted.Itwasthebigmannowwhoseemedstretchedtothe
limit:blocking,dodging,tryingtostayoutofreach.Itwasasthoughtheyhad
sneakedtheoldLutharawayinthebreakandreplacedhimwithadifferentman
altogether:astronger,faster,farmoreconfidenttwinbrother.
So long denied something to cheer for, the crowd whooped and yelled as
though they’d split their throats. Glokta did not share their enthusiasm.
Something is wrong here. Something is wrong. He glanced across the faces
nearby, but no one else had sensed anything amiss. They only saw what they
wanted to see: Luthar giving the ugly brute a spectacular and well-deserved
thrashing.Glokta’seyesscannedacrossthebenches,notknowingwhathewas
lookingfor.
Bayaz,so-called.Sittingnearthefront,leaningforwardandstaringatthetwo
fighters with fixed concentration, his “apprentice” and the scarred Northman
beside him. No one else noticed it, everyone was intent on the fighters before
them,butGloktadid.Herubbedhiseyesandlookedagain.Somethingwrong.
“SayonethingfortheFirstoftheMagi,sayhe’sacheatingbastard,”growled
Logen.
Bayaz had a little smile at the corner of his mouth as hemopped the sweat
fromhisforehead.“Whoeversaidhewasn’t?”
Lutharwasintroubleagain.Badtrouble.Eachtimeheblockedoneofthose
heavy sweeps, his swords snapped back further, his grip seemed slacker. Each
timehedodged,heendedupalittlefurtherbacktowardstheedgeoftheyellow
circle.
Then,whentheendseemedcertain,outofthecornerofhiseye,Logensaw
the air above Bayaz’ shoulders shimmer, as it had on the road south when the
treesburned,andhefeltthatstrangetuggingathisguts.
Lutharseemedsuddenlytofindnewvigour.Hecaughtthenextgreatblowon
thegripofhisshortsword.Amomentbefore,itmighteasilyhavesentthething
flyingfromhishand.Nowhehelditthereforaninstant,thenflungitawaywith
acry,pushinghisopponent offbalanceandjumping forward, suddenlyonthe
attack.
“IfyouwerecaughtcheatinginaNorthernduel,”growledLogen,shakinghis
head,“they’dcutthebloodycrossintoyourstomachandpullyourgutsout.”
“Lucky for me,” murmured Bayaz through gritted teeth, without taking his
eyes away from the fighters, “that we are in the North no longer.” Sweat was
alreadybeadinghisbaldscalpagain,runningdownhisfaceinfatdrops.Hisfists
wereclenchedtightandtremblingwitheffort.
Luthar struck furiously, again and again, his swords a flashing blur. Gorst
gruntedandgrowledasheturnedtheblowsaway,butLutharwastooquickfor
himnow,andtoostrong.Hedrovehimmercilesslyacrossthecirclelikeacrazy
dogmightdriveacow.
“Fuckingcheating,”growledLogenagain,asLuthar’sbladeflashedandlefta
brightredlineacrossGorst’scheek.Afewdropsofbloodspatteredacrossinto
thecrowdonLogen’sleft,andtheyexplodedintoriotouscheering.That,justfor
a moment, was a shadow of his own duels. The referee’s cry of three apiece
couldhardlybeheardatall.Gorstfrownedslightlyandtouchedonehandtohis
face.
Above the din, Logen could just hear Quai’s whisper. “Never bet against a
Magus…”
Jezalknewthathewasgood,buthehadneverdreamedhecouldbethisgood.
Hewassharpasacat,nimbleasafly,strongasabear.Hisribsnolongerhurt,
hiswristsnolongerhurt,alltraceoftirednesshadlefthim,alltraceofdoubt.He
wasfearless,peerless,unstoppable.Theapplausethunderedaroundhimandyet
hecouldheareverywordofit,seeeverydetailofeveryfaceinthecrowd.His
heartwaspumpingtinglingfireinsteadofblood,hislungsweresuckinginthe
veryclouds.
Hedidnotbothereventositinthebreak,sogreatwas hiseagerness toget
backintothecircle.Thechairwasaninsulttohim.Hewasnotlisteningtowhat
Varuz and West were saying. They were of no importance. Little people, far
below.Theystaredathim:flushed,amazed,aswelltheymightbe.
Hewasthegreatestswordsmanever.
ThatcrippleGloktacouldnothaveknownhowrighthewas:Jezalhadonlyto
try,itseemed,andhecouldhaveanythinghewanted.Hechuckledashedanced
backtothemark.Helaughedasheheardthecrowdscheer.HesmiledatGorst
ashesteppedbackintothecircle.Allwaspreciselyasitshouldbe.Thoseeyes
werestillheavy-lidded,lazyabovethelittleredcutthatJezalhadgivenhim,but
there was something else there now as well: a trace of shock, of wariness, of
respect.Aswelltheremightbe.
There was nothing that Jezal could not do. He was invincible. He was
unstoppable.Hewas…
“Begin!”
…completely lost. The pain lanced through his side and made him gasp.
Suddenlyhewasafraid,andtired,andweakagain.Gorstgrowledandunleashed
his savage cuts, jarring the steels in Jezal’s hands, making him jump like a
frightenedrabbit.Themasterywasgone,theanticipation,thenerve,andGorst’s
onslaught was more brutal than ever. He felt a terrible lurch of despair as his
longsteelwastornfromhisbuzzingfingers,flewthroughtheairandclattered
intothebarrier.Jezalwasbludgeonedtohisknees.Thecrowdgasped.Itwasall
over…
…Itwasnotover.Theblowwasarcingdowntowardshim.Thefinalblow.It
seemed to drift. Slow, slow, as though through honey. Jezal smiled. It was a
simplematterforhimtopushitawaywithhisshortsteel.Thestrengthflowed
again. He sprang upwards, shoved Gorst away with his empty hand, flicked
anotherswingaside,andthenanother,hisonesworddoingtheworkoftwowith
timeto spare. The arenawasbreathlesssilent but fortherapid clashing of the
steels.Rightandleft,rightandleftwenttheshortblade,flashingfasterthanhis
eye could follow, faster than his mind could think, seeming almost to be
dragginghimalongbehindit.
TherewasasquealofmetalonmetalasittoreGorst’snotchedlongsteelfrom
hishand,thenanotherasitflickeredacrossanddidthesamewithhisshort.For
amoment,allwasstill.Thebig man,disarmed andwith hisheels onthe very
edgeofthecircle,lookedupatJezal.Thecrowdwassilent.
ThenJezalslowlyliftedhisshortsteel,allofasuddenseemingtoweighaton,
andpokedGorstgentlyintheribswithit.
“Huh,”saidthebigmanquietly,raisinghiseyebrows.
Thenthecrowdexplodedintodeafeningapplause.Thenoisewentonandon,
risingandrising,washingoverJezalinwaves.Nowthatitwasfinishedhefelt
drained beyond description. He closed his eyes, swaying, his sword dropped
fromhisnervelessfingersandhesanktohisknees.Hewasbeyondexhaustion.
Itwasasthoughhe had used a whole week’senergyina few moments. Even
kneelingwasanefforthewasnotsurehecouldsustainforlong,andifhefellhe
wasnotsurehecouldevergetupagain.
But then he felt strong hands taking him under the arms, and felt himself
beinglifted.Thenoiseofthecrowdgrewevenlouderashewashoistedintothe
air.Heopenedhiseyes—bleary,blurrycolourflashedinfrontofhimashewas
turned around. His head rang with the sound. He was up on someone’s
shoulders. A shaved head. Gorst. The big man had lifted him up, as a father
mightlifthischild,displayinghimtothecrowd,smilingupathimwithabig,
uglygrin.Jezalsmiledbackdespitehimself.Itwasastrangemoment,allinall.
“Lutharwins!”criedtherefereepointlessly,barelyaudible.“Lutharwins!”
The cheering had resolved itself into a steady chant of “Luthar! Luthar!
Luthar!”The arenashookwith it.Jezal’sheadswam withit.It waslikebeing
drunk.Drunkonvictory.Drunkonyourself.
Gorst lowered him back to the circle as the cheering of the crowd began to
fade. “You beat me,” he said, smiling wide. His voice was strangely high and
soft, almost like a woman’s. “Fair and square. I’d like to be the first to
congratulateyou.”Andhenoddedhisbigheadandsmiledagain,rubbingatthe
cut under his eye without the slightest bitterness. “You deserve it,” he said,
holdingouthishand.
“Thank you.” Jezal flashed a sour smile and gave the man’s big paw as
cursory a squeeze as possible, then he turned away towards his enclosure. Of
coursehefuckingdeservedit,andhewasdamnedifhewouldletthatbastard
baskinhisreflectedgloryamomentlonger.
“Bravelydone,myboy,bravelydone!”frothedMarshalVaruz,slappinghim
ontheshoulder ashestumbledbackto hischairon wobblylegs.“Iknewyou
coulddoit!”
Westgrinnedas hehanded himthe towel.“They’llbetalkingaboutthisfor
years.”
Otherwell-wisherscrowdedin,offeringtheircongratulations,leaningoverthe
barrier.Awhirlofsmilingfaces,andinamongstthemthefaceofJezal’sfather,
shiningwithpride.“Iknewthatyoucoulddoit,Jezal!Ineverdoubted!Notfor
a minute! You’ve brought honour to our family!” Jezal noticed that his elder
brother didn’t look all that pleased about it, though. He had the usual stodgy,
enviousexpressiononhisface,even atJezal’smomentofvictory.Thestodgy,
enviousbastard.Couldhenotbehappyforhisbrother,ifonlyforoneday?
“MayItoocongratulatethewinner?”cameavoicefromoverhisshoulder.It
was that old idiot, the one from the gate, the one whom Sulfur had called his
master.TheonewhohadusedthenameBayaz.Hehadsweatonhisbaldskull,a
lotofit.Hisfacewaspale,hiseyessunken.Almostasifhehadjustdoneseven
toucheswithGorst.“Welldoneindeed,myyoungfriend,analmost…magical
performance.”
“Thankyou,”mutteredJezal.Hewasnotatallsurewhothisoldmanwas,or
what he was after, but he did not trust him in the least. “I am sorry though, I
must—”
“Of course. We will talk later.” He said it with a disturbing finality, as if it
wereathingalreadyarranged.Thenheturnedawayandvanishedsmoothlyinto
the crowds. Jezal’s father stared after him, ashen-faced now, as though he had
seenaghost.
“Doyouknowhim,father?”
“Jezal!” Varuz grabbed his arm excitedly. “Come! The King wishes to
congratulateyou!”HedraggedJezalfromhisfamilyandtowardsthecircle.A
scatteringofapplauseroseupagainastheywalkedtogetheracrossthedrygrass,
thesceneof Jezal’svictory.TheLordMarshalslungafatherlyarmaroundhis
shoulder,and smiled up atthecrowdsas though the applausewasall for him.
Everyonewantedapieceofhisglory,itseemed,butJezalwasabletoshakethe
oldmanoffashemountedthestepsoftheroyalbox.
PrinceRaynault,youngestsonoftheKing,wasfirstinline,humblydressed,
honestandthoughtful-seeming,scarcelylookinglikeroyaltyatall.“Welldone!”
he shouted over the roar of the crowd, sounding truly delighted for Jezal’s
victory.“Welldoneindeed!”Hisolderbrotherwasmoreexuberant.
“Incredible!” shouted Crown Prince Ladisla, the sunlight glinting off the
goldenbuttonsonhiswhitejacket.“Capital!Amazing!Spectacular!Ineversaw
suchathing!” Jezal grinned and bowedhumblyashe went past, hunching his
shouldersastheCrownPrinceslappedhimsomewhattoohardontheback.“I
alwaysknewyou’ddoit!Youwerealwaysmyman!”
ThePrincessTerez,onlydaughteroftheGrandDukeOrsoofTalins,watched
Jezalpasswithatiny,disdainfulsmile,tappingtwolanguidfingersagainsther
palm in a quarter-hearted imitation of clapping. Her chin was raised painfully
high,asthoughjusttobelookedatbyherwasanhonourhecouldneverfully
appreciate,andcertainlydidnotdeserve.
AndsohecameatlasttothehighseatofGuslavthefifth,HighKingofthe
Union. His head was slumped sideways, squashed down under the sparkling
crown. His pasty pale fingers twitched on his crimson silk mantle like white
slugs. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling gently, accompanied by
gentle splutterings as spittle issued from his slack lips and ran down his chin,
joiningthesweatonhisbulgingjowlsandhelpingittoturnhishighcollardark
withwet.
Truly,Jezalwasinthepresenceofgreatness.
“YourMajesty,”murmuredLordHoff.Theheadofstatedidnotrespond.His
wifetheQueenlookedon,painfullyerect,afixed,emotionlesssmileplastered
acrossherwell-powderedface.
Jezal hardly knew where to look, and settled on his dusty shoes. The Lord
Chamberlaincoughedloudly.Amuscletwitchedbeneaththesweatyfaton the
sideoftheKing’sface,buthedidnotwake.Hoffwinced,and,glancingaround
to make sure no one was watching too closely, jabbed the royal ribs with his
finger.
The King jumped, eyelids suddenly flicking wide open, heavy jowls
wobbling,staringatJezalwithwild,bloodshot,red-rimmedeyes.
“YourMajesty,thisisCaptain…”
“Raynault!”exclaimedtheKing,“myson!”
Jezalswallowednervously,doinghisbesttomaintainarigidsmileofhisown.
Thesenileoldfoolhadmistakenhimforhisyoungerson.Worseyet,thePrince
himself was standing not four paces away. The Queen’s wooden grin twitched
slightly.Princess Terez’ perfectlipstwistedwithscorn.TheLord Chamberlain
gaveanawkwardcough.“Er,no,yourMajesty,thisis…”
But it was too late. Without any warning, the monarch struggled to his feet
and folded Jezal in an enthusiastic embrace, his heavy crown slipping over to
onesideofhisheadandoneofitsjewel-encrustedprongsnearlypokingJezalin
theeye.LordHoff’sjawopenedsilently.ThetwoPrincesgoggled.Jezalcould
onlymanageahelplessgurgle.
“Myson!”blubberedtheKing,hisvoicechokedwithemotion.“Raynault,I’m
so glad you’re back! When I am gone, Ladisla will need your help. He is so
weak,andthecrownissuchaheavyweight!Youwerealwaysthebettersuited
forit!Suchaheavyweight!”hesobbedintoJezal’sshoulder.
Itwaslikeahideousnightmare.LadislaandtherealRaynaultgawpedateach
other,thenbackattheirfather,bothlookingsick.Terezwassneeringdownher
nose at her prospective father-in-law with undisguised contempt. From bad to
much, much worse. What the hell did one do in such a situation? Could there
possiblybeanyetiquettedevisedforthis?JezalpattedhisKingawkwardlyon
hisfatback.Whatelsecouldhedo?Shovethesenileoldidiotoveronhisarse,
withhalfofhissubjectslookingon?Hewasalmosttemptedtodoit.
Itwasa small mercythatthecrowds took the King’s embrace foraringing
endorsementofJezal’sfencingabilities,anddrownedouthiswordswithafresh
wave of cheering. No one beyond the royal box heard what he said. They all
missedthefullsignificanceofwhatwas,withoutdoubt,themostembarrassing
momentofJezal’slife.
TheIdealAudience
ArchLectorSultwasstandingbyhishugewindowwhenGloktaarrived,tall
andimposingasalwaysinhisspotlesswhitecoat,gazingoutacrossthespiresof
theUniversitytowardstheHouseoftheMaker.Apleasantbreezewaswashing
throughthegreatcircularroom,rufflingtheoldman’sshockofwhitehairand
makingthemanypapersonhisenormousdeskcrackleandflutter.
He turned as Glokta shuffled into the room. “Inquisitor,” he said simply,
holdingouthiswhiteglovedhand,thegreatstoneonhisringofofficecatching
thebrightsunlightfromtheopenwindowandglitteringwithpurplefire.
“Iserveandobey,yourEminence.”Gloktatookthehandinhis,andgrimaced
ashebent downtokissthering,hiscanetremblingwiththeeffortof keeping
upright.Damnitiftheoldbastarddoesn’tholdhishandalittlelowereverytime,
justtowatchmesweat.
Sult poured himself into his tall chair in one smooth motion,elbows on the
tabletop,fingerspressedtogetherbeforehim.Gloktacouldonlystandandwait,
hislegburningfromthefamiliarclimbthroughtheHouseofQuestions,sweat
ticklinghisscalp,andwaitfortheinvitationtosit.
“Please be seated,” murmured the Arch Lector, then waited while Glokta
wincedhiswayintooneofthelesserchairsattheroundtable.“Nowtellme,has
yourinvestigationmetwithanysuccess?”
“Some. There was a disturbance at our visitors’ chambers the other night.
Theyclaimthat—”
“Plainly an attempt to add credence to this outrageous story. Magic!” Sult
snortedhisdisdain.“Haveyoudiscoveredhowthebreachinthewallwasreally
made?”
Magic,perhaps?“Iamafraidnot,ArchLector.”
“That is unfortunate. Some proof of how this particular trick was managed
mightbeofusetous.Still,”andSultsighedasthoughhehadexpectednobetter,
“onecannothaveeverything.Didyouspeaktothese…people?”
“Idid.Bayaz,ifImayusethename,isamostslipperytalker.Withouttheaid
ofanythingmorepersuasivethanthequestionsthemselves,Icouldgetnothing
fromhim.HisfriendtheNorthmanalsobearssomestudy.”
One crease formed across Sult’s smooth forehead. “You suspect some
connectionwiththissavageBethod?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?” echoed the Arch Lector sourly, as though the very word was
poison.“Whatelse?”
“Therehasbeenanewadditiontothemerryband.”
“Iknow.TheNavigator.”
WhydoIevenbother?“Yes,yourEminence,aNavigator.”
“Good luck to them. Those penny-pinching fortune-tellers are always more
troublethanthey’reworth.BlubberingonaboutGodandwhathaveyou.Greedy
savages.”
“Absolutely.Moretroublethanthey’reworth,ArchLector,thoughitwouldbe
interestingtoknowwhytheyhaveemployedone.”
“Andwhyhavethey?”
Gloktapausedforamoment.“Idon’tknow.”
“Huh,”snortedSult.“Whatelse?”
“Followingtheirnight-timevisitation,ourfriendswererelocatedtoasuiteof
rooms beside the park. There was a most grisly death a few nights ago, not
twentypacesfromtheirwindows.”
“Superior Goyle mentioned this. He said it was nothing to concern myself
about, that there was no connection with our visitors. I left the matter in his
hands.”HefrownedatGlokta.“DidImakethewrongdecision?”
Oh dear me, I need not think too long over this one. “Absolutely not, Arch
Lector.”Gloktabowedhisheadindeeprespect.“IftheSuperiorissatisfied,then
soamI.”
“Hmm.Sowhatyouaretellingmeisthat,allinall,wehavenothing.”
Not quite nothing. “There is this.” Glokta fished the ancient scroll from his
coatpocketandhelditout.
Sulthadalookofmildcuriosityonhisfaceashetookitandunrolleditonthe
table,stareddownatthemeaninglesssymbols.“Whatisit?”
Hah.Soyoudon’tknoweverything.“Isupposeyoucouldsaythatit’sapiece
ofhistory.AnaccountofhowBayazdefeatedtheMasterMaker.”
“Apieceofhistory.”Sulttappedhisfingerthoughtfullyonthetabletop.“And
howdoesithelpus?”Howdoesithelpyou,youmean?
“Accordingtothis,itwasourfriendBayazwhosealeduptheHouseofthe
Maker.”Gloktanoddedtowardstheloomingshapebeyondthewindow.“Sealed
itup…andtookthekey.”
“Key?Thattowerhasalwaysbeensealed.Always.AsfarasIamawarethere
isnotevenakeyhole.”
“Thosewerepreciselymythoughts,yourEminence.”
“Hmm.”Slowly,Sultbegantosmile.“Storiesareallinhowyoutellthem,eh?
Our friend Bayaz knows that well enough, I dare say. He would use our own
stories against us, but now we switch cups with him. I enjoy the irony.” He
pickedupthescrollagain.“Isitauthentic?”
“Doesitmatter?”
“Ofcoursenot.”Sultrosegracefullyfromhischairandpacedslowlyoverto
thewindow, tappingthe rolled-upscroll againsthis fingers.He stoodthere for
sometime,staringout.Whenheturned,hehaddevelopedalookofthedeepest
self-satisfaction.
“Itoccurstomethattherewillbeafeasttomorrowevening,acelebrationfor
ournewchampionswordsman,CaptainLuthar.”Thatcheatinglittleworm.“The
greatandthegoodwillbeinattendance:theQueen,bothPrinces,mostofthe
ClosedCouncil, several leadingnoblemen.”Not forgetting theKinghimself. It
has come to something when his presence at dinner is not even worth
mentioning. “That would be the ideal audience for our little unmasking, don’t
youthink?”
Glokta cautiously bowed his head. “Of course, Arch Lector. The ideal
audience.”Providingitworks.Itmightbean embarrassingaudience tofail in
frontof.
ButSultwasalreadyanticipatinghistriumph.“Theperfectgathering,andjust
enough time to make the necessary arrangements. Send a messenger to our
friendtheFirstoftheMagi,andlethimknowthatheand hiscompanions are
cordially invited to a dinner tomorrow evening. I trust that you will attend
yourself?”
Me?Gloktabowedagain.“Iwouldnotmissitforanything,yourEminence.”
“Good. Bring your Practicals with you. Our friends might become violent
whentheyrealisethegameisup.Barbariansofthissort,whocantellwhatthey
mightbecapableof?”AbarelyperceptiblemotionoftheArchLector’sgloved
handindicatedthattheinterviewwasfinished.Allthosestairs,justforthis?
Sult was looking down his nose at the scroll as Glokta finally reached the
threshold. “The ideal audience,” he was muttering, as the heavy doors clicked
shut.
IntheNorth,achieftain’sownCarlsatewithhimeverynightinhishall.The
women brought the food in wooden bowls. You’d stab the lumps of meat out
withaknifeandwithaknifeyou’dcutthemup,thenyou’dstuffthebitsinyour
mouthwithyourfingers.Ifyoufoundsomeboneorgristleyou’dtossitdownon
thestrawforthedogs.Thetable,iftherewasone,wasafewslabsofill-fitting
wood,stainedandgougedandscarredfromhavingknivesstuckinit.TheCarls
satonlongbenches,withmaybeachairortwofortheNamedMen.It’dbedark,
especiallyinthelongwinters,andsmokyfromthefire-pitandthechaggapipes.
There’d often be singing of songs, usually shouting of good-natured insults,
sometimesscreamingofbad-naturedones,andalwaysalotofdrink.Theonly
rulewasthatyouwaitedforthechieftobegin.
Logenhadnoideawhattherulesmightbehere,butheguessedtherewerea
lot.
The guests were sat round three long tables set out in a horseshoe, sixty
peopleor more.Everyonehad theirownchair, andthedark woodofthe table
tops was polished to a high sheen, made bright enough for Logen to see the
blurryoutlineofhisfaceinbyhundredsofcandlesscatteredroundthewallsand
downthetables. Every guest had atleastthree blunt knives, and severalother
things scattered about in front of them that Logen had no idea of the use for,
includingabigflatcircleofshinymetal.
There was no shouting and certainly no singing, just a low murmur like a
beehiveaspeoplemutteredbetweenthemselves,leaningtowardseachotherasif
theywereswappingsecrets.Theclotheswerestrangerthanever.Oldmenwore
heavyrobesofblack,redandgold,trimmedwithshiningfur,evenintheheat.
Young men wore tight fitting jackets in bright crimson, green, or blue,
festooned with ropes and knots of gold and silver thread. Women were hung
with chains and rings of glittering gold and flashing jewels, wearing strange
dresses of vivid cloth that were ridiculously loose and billowing in places,
painfullytightinothers,andleftothersstillentirely,distractinglybare.
Eventheservantsweredressedlikelords,prowlingaroundbehindthetables,
leaningforwardsilentlytofillgobletswithsweet,thinwine.Logenhadalready
drunkadealofit,andthebrightroomhadtakenonapleasantglow.
Theproblemwasthelackoffood.Hehadn’teatensincethatmorningandhis
stomach was growling. He’d been eyeing the jars of plants sat on the tables
beforetheguests.Theyhadbrightflowersonthem,anddidn’tlookmuchlike
foodtohim,butthentheyatesomestrangethingsinthiscountry.
Therewasnothingforitbuttotry.Hesnatchedoneofthethingsfromthejar,
alongpiece of greenplantwith ayellowflower on theend.Hetook a nibble
fromthebottomofthestem.Tastelessandwatery,butatleastitwascrunchy.He
tookalargerbiteandmunchedonitwithoutrelish.
“I don’t think they’re meant for eating.” Logen glanced round, surprised to
hear the Northern tongue spoken here, surprised that anyone was speaking to
himatall.Hisneighbour,atall,gauntmanwithasharp,linedface,wasleaning
towards him with an embarrassed smile. Logen recognised him vaguely. He’d
beenattheswordgame—holdingthebladesfortheladfromthegate.
“Ah,”mumbledLogenroundhismouthfulofplant.Thetasteofthestuffgot
worsewithtime.“Sorry,”hesaidoncehehadforceditdownhisthroat,“Idon’t
knowmuchaboutthesethings.”
“Honestly,neitherdoI.Howdidittaste?”
“Likeshit.” Logen heldthehalf-eaten floweruncertainlyin his fingers.The
tiledfloorwasspotlesslyclean.Ithardlyseemedrighttotossthethingunderthe
table.Therewerenodogsanyway,andeveniftherehadbeenhedoubtedthey’d
haveeatenthething.Adogwouldhavehadmoresensethanhim.Hedroppedit
onthemetalplatterandwipedhisfingersonhischest,hopingthatnoonehad
noticed.
“MynameisWest,”saidtheman,offeringhishand,“IcomefromAngland.”
Logengavethehandasqueeze.“Ninefingers.ABrynn,fromwayupnorthof
theHighPlaces.”
“Ninefingers?”Logenwaggledhisstumpathimandthemannodded.“Ah,I
see.”Hesmiledasthoughrememberingsomethingfunny.“Iheardasongonce,
inAngland,aboutanine-fingeredman.Whatwashecallednow?TheBloody-
Nine!Thatwasit!”Logenfelthisgrinslipping.“OneofthoseNorthernsongs,
youknowthekind,allviolence.Hecutoffheadsbythecartload,thisBloody-
Nine, and burned towns, and mixed blood with his beer and whatnot. That
wasn’tyou,wasit?”
Themanwasmakingajoke.Logenlaughednervously.“No,no,Ineverheard
ofhim,”butluckilyWesthadalreadymovedon.
“Tellme,youlooklikeyou’veseensomebattlesinyourtime.”
“I’vebeeninsomescrapes.”Itwaspointlesstodenyit.
“Do you know of this one they call the King of the Northmen? This man
Bethod?”
Logenglancedsideways.“Iknowofhim.”
“Youfoughtagainsthiminthewars?”
Logen grimaced. The sour taste of the plant seemed to be lingering in his
mouth.Hepickeduphisgobletandtookaswallow.“Worse,”hesaidslowlyas
hesetitdown.“Ifoughtforhim.”
Thisonlyseemedtomakethemanmorecuriousthanever.“Thenyouknow
abouthistactics,andhistroops.Hiswayofmakingwar?”Logennodded.“What
canyoutellmeabouthim?”
“Thathe’sa mostcunningand ruthlessopponent,with nopityor scruplein
him. Make no mistake, I hate the man, but there’s been no war leader in his
league since the days of Skarling Hoodless. He has that in him which men
respect, or fear, or at least obey. He pushes his men hard, so he can make the
fieldfirstandchoosehisownground,buttheymarchhardforhimbecausehe
bringsthemvictories.He’scautiouswhenhemustbe,andfearlesswhenhemust
be,butneglectsnodetail.Hedelightsineverytrickofwar—insettingtrapsand
ambushes,inmountingfeintsanddeceptions,insendingsuddenraidsagainstthe
unwary. Look for him where you expect him least, and expect him to be
strongestwhereheseemstheweakest.Bewarehimmostofallwhenheseemsto
run.Mostmenfearhim,andthosethatdon’tarefools.”
Logenpickeduptheflowerfromtheplateandstartedsnappingitintopieces.
“Hisarmiesaregroupedaboutthechieftainsoftheclans,someofthemstrong
warleadersintheirownright.MostofhisfightersareThralls,peasantspressed
intoservice,lightlyarmedwithspearorbow,fastmovinginloosegroups.Inthe
pasttheywereill-trained,andtakenfromtheirfarmsforonlyashorttime,but
the wars have been raging for so long that many of them have become hard
fighters,andshowscantmercy.”
Hebegantoarrangethebitsofplant,imaginingtheyweregroupsofmenand
theplateahill.“EachchieftainkeepsCarlsbesides,hisownhouseholdwarriors,
well armed and armoured, skilled with axe and sword and spear, well
disciplined. Some few have horses, but Bethod will keep those out of sight,
waitingfor thebestmoment tochargeor pursue.”Hepulled the yellowpetals
fromtheflower,andtheybecamehorsemenhiddenontheflanks.“Lastthereare
theKnownMen,theNamedMen,thosewarriorswho’veearnedgreatrespectin
battle.TheymightleadgroupsofCarlsonthefield,oractasscoutsorraiders,
sometimesfarintheenemy’srear.”
Herealisedtheplatewascoveredwithamessofbrokenpiecesofplant,and
brushed them hurriedly off onto the table. “That’s the tradition of war in the
North, but Bethod’s always had a fancy for new ideas. He’s read books, and
studiedotherwaysoffighting,andoftentalkedofbuyingflatbows,andheavy
armour,andstrongwar-horsesfromthesoutherntraders,andofmakinganarmy
tobefearedthroughouttheworld.”
Logenbecameawarehehadbeentalkingsolidlyforages.Hehadn’tsaidhalf
thatmanywordstogetherinyears,butWestwasstaringathimwitha lookof
raptattention.“Youspeaklikeamanwhoknowshisbusiness.”
“Well,you’vehappenedupontheonesubjectonwhichImightbereckoned
anexpert.”
“What advice would you give to a man who had to fight a war against
Bethod?”
Logenfrowned.“Becareful.Andwatchyourback.”
Jezalwasnotenjoyinghimself.Atfirst,ofcourse,ithadseemedadelightful
idea, just the thing he had always dreamed of: a celebration in his honour,
attendedbysomanyoftheUnion’sgreatest.Surelyitwasonlythestartofhis
wonderful new life as a champion of the Contest. The great things which
everyonehad predicted,no, promisedfor himwere almostarrived, poisedlike
over-ripefruittodropfromthetreeandintohislap.Promotionsandglorywere
suretofollowclosebehind.PerhapstheywouldmakehimMajortonight,andhe
wouldgotothewarinAnglandascommanderofafullbattalion…
But,strangely,itappearedthatmostoftheguestsweremoreinterestedintheir
ownaffairs.They chattered toeachother aboutgovernmentmatters, about the
business of merchant houses, about issues of land, and title, and politics.
Fencing,andhisremarkableskillatit,werescarcelymentioned.Noimmediate
promotion had been forthcoming. He simply had to sit there, and smile, and
accepttheoddlukewarmcongratulationfromstrangersinsplendidclotheswho
barelyevenlookedhimintheeye.Awaxeffigycouldhavedonethesamejob.
He had to admit, the adulation of the commoners in the arena had been
considerablymoregratifying.Atleasttheyhadsoundedasiftheymeantit.
Still,hehadneverbeforebeenwithinthepalacecompound,afortresswithin
the fortress of the Agriont where few indeed were permitted to tread. Now he
wasseatedatthetoptableintheKing’sowndininghall,thoughJezaldidnot
doubt that his Majesty took the majority of his meals propped up in bed, and
mostlikelyhadthemfedtohimwithaspoon.
Therewasastagesetintothewallatthefarendoftheroom.Jezalhadonce
heard that Ostus, the child King, had jesters perform for him at every meal.
MorlictheMad,bycontrast,hadstagedexecutionstheretogowithhisdinner.
KingCasamir,itwassaid,hadlikenessesofhisworstenemiesshoutinsultsat
him from that stage while he took his breakfast every morning, to keep his
hatredforthemfresh.Thecurtainswereclosednow,though.Jezalwouldhaveto
lookforhisentertainmentelsewhere,andinthisregardthepickingswereslim
indeed.
Marshal Varuz prattled on in his ear. He, at least, was still interested in
fencing.Unfortunately,hetalkedofnothingelse.“Ineversawsuchathing.The
wholecityisbuzzingwithit.Mostremarkableboutthatanyone’severseen!I
swear,you’rebettereventhanSanddanGloktausedtobe,andIneverthought
toseehislikeagain!Ineverdreamedyouhaditinyoutofightlikethat,Jezal,
neverhadtheslightestinkling!”
“Mmm,”saidJezal.
The Crown Prince Ladisla and his bride-to-be, Terez of Talins, made a
dazzlingcoupleatthetopofthetable,justbesidethedozingKing.Theywere
oblivioustoallthatwasgoingonaroundthem,buthardlyinthewaythatone
mighthopeforfromtwoyounglovers.Theywerearguingviciouslyinscarcely
hushedvoices,whiletheirneighboursstudiouslypretendednottosuckinevery
word.
“…wellI’llbegoingtowarsoon,inAngland,soyouneednotsuffermetoo
much longer!” whined Ladisla. “I might be killed! Perhaps that would make
yourHighnesshappy?”
“Praydon’tdieonmyaccount,”returnedTerez,herStyrianaccentdripping
venom,“butifyoumust,youmust.IsupposeIwilllearntobearthesorrow…”
Somebodynearerathand distracted Jezal by thumping on the table. “Damn
thesecommoners!Damnpeasantry’supinarmsinStarikland!Lazydogs,they
refusetoworkastroke!”
“It’sthesetaxes,”grumbledtheman’sneighbour,“thesewartaxeshavethem
allstirredup. Have you heard aboutthisdamn character they calltheTanner?
Somebloodypeasant,preachingrevolution,openasyouplease!Iheardthatone
of the King’s collectors was set on by a mob, not a mile outside the walls of
Keln.OneoftheKing’scollectors,Isay!Byamob!Notamileoutsidethecity
walls—”
“We’ve damn well brought it on ourselves!” The speaker’s face was out of
sight but Jezal recognised him by the gold-embroidered cuffs on his gown.
Marovia,theHighJustice.“Treatamanlikeadogandsoonerorlaterhe’llbite
you, it’s a simple fact. Our role as governors, and as noblemen, is surely to
respectandprotectthecommonman,ratherthantooppressandscornhim?”
“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutscorn, Lord Marovia, or oppression, just about them
paying what’s due to us as their landlords, and for that matter their natural
betters.”
MarshalVaruz,meanwhile,hadnotletupforaninstant.“Itwasquiteathing,
eh?Thewayyouputhimdown,onesteelagainsttwo!”Theoldsoldierswished
hishandaroundintheair.“Thewholetown’sbuzzing.You’reboundforgreat
thingsnowmyboy,markmywords.Boundforgreatthings.I’llbedamnedif
youdon’thavemyseatontheClosedCounciloneday!”
Itreallywastoomuch.Jezalhadputupwiththemanforallthosemonths.He
hadsomehowimaginedthatifhewonthatwouldbetheendofit,butitseemed
hewouldbe disappointed inthis,as in so muchelse.It was strange,butJezal
hadneverfullyrealisedbeforewhataboringoldimbeciletheLordMarshalwas.
Hewasrealisingnowthough,andnomistake.
Tofurtheraddtohisdismay,therewereseveralpeopleseatedaboutthetables
whowouldmostdefinitelynothavebeenamonghischosenguests.Hesupposed
hecouldmakeadispensationforSult,theArchLectoroftheInquisition,since
hesatontheClosedCouncilandwaswithoutdoubtapowerfulfigure,butJezal
couldnotcomprehendwhyhemighthavebroughtthatbastardGloktawithhim.
The cripple looked even more ill than usual, twitching eyes sunken in dark
circles. For some reason he was occasionally shooting grim and suspicious
glances at Jezal as though he suspected him of some crime or other. It was a
damncheek,whatwithitbeinghisfeastandall.
Evenworse,ontheothersideoftheroomwasthatold,baldman,theonewho
had called himself Bayaz. Jezal had still not got to the bottom of his strange
wordsofcongratulationattheContest—orhisfather’sreactiontotheman,for
thatmatter. And he had his hideous friend,thenine-fingeredbarbarian,beside
him.
MajorWesthadthe misfortuneofbeing seatednextto theprimitive,but he
wasmakingthebestofit;indeed,thetwowereengagedinalivelyconversation.
TheNorthmanbrokeintosuddenpealsoflaughterandthumpedthetablewith
hisbigfist,makingtheglassesrattle.Atleasttheywereenjoyingthemselvesat
his party, Jezal thought sourly, but he almost wished he was down there with
them.
Still,heknewthathewantedtobeabig,importantmansomeday.Towear
thingswithalotoffur,andaheavygoldenchainofoffice.Tohavepeoplebow
and scrape and fawn before him. He had made that decision long ago, and he
supposedhestilllikedtheidea.Itwasjustthat,upclose,thewholethingseemed
soawfullyfalseandboring.Hewouldmuch,muchratherhavebeenonhisown
with Ardee, even though he had seen her the night before. There was nothing
boringabouther…
“…the savages are closing on Ostenhorm, that’s what I heard!” someone
shouted over on Jezal’s left. “The Lord Governor, Meed, he’s raising an army
andhassworntoturnthemoutofAngland!”
“Hah.Meed?Thatswollen-headedoldfoolcouldn’tturnapieoutofadish!”
“EnoughtobeattheseNorthernanimalsthough,what?OnegoodUnionman’s
worthtenoftheirkind.
JezalheardTerez’voicecuttingsuddenlyshrillabovethehubbub,almostloud
enoughtobeheardatthefarendoftheroom,“…ofcourseIwillmarrywhere
myfathercommandsme,butIdon’thavetolikeit!”Sheappearedsoviciousat
that moment that he would not have been surprised to see her stab the Crown
Princeinthefacewithherfork.Jezalfeltsomewhatgratifiedtoseethathewas
nottheonlyonewhohadtroublewithwomen.
“…ohyes,aremarkableperformance!Everyone’stalkingaboutit,”Varuzwas
stilldroning.
Jezalsquirmedinhischair.Howlongwasthisbloodybusinessgoingtotake?
Hefeltsuffocated.He glancedacross thefaces againand caughtGlokta’seye,
staring at him with that grim, suspicious look on his wasted face. Jezal still
couldn’tmeetthatgazeforlong,hispartyorno.Whatthehelldidthecripple
haveagainsthimanyhow?
The little bastard. He cheated. Somehow. I know it. Glokta’s eyes tracked
slowlyacrossthetableoppositeuntiltheylightedonBayaz.Theoldfraudwas
sittingthere,quiteathome.Andhehadsomepartinit.Theycheated,together.
Somehow.
“My lords and ladies!” The chatter faded as the Lord Chamberlain rose to
addresstheroom.“Iwouldliketowelcomeyouall,onhisMajesty’sbehalf,to
this humble gathering.” The King himself stirred briefly, gazed vacantly about
him, blinked, then closed his eyes. “We are gathered, of course, in honour of
CaptainJezaldanLuthar,whohasrecentlyaddedhisnametothatmostselect
roll of honour: those swordsman who have been victorious at the summer
Contest.” A few glasses were raised and there were some half-hearted
mumblingsofagreement.
“Irecogniseseveralother winners among the assembly here today, many of
themnowtheholdersofhighoffice:LordMarshalVaruz,CommanderValdisof
the Knights Herald, Major West down there, now on Marshal Burr’s staff, of
course. Even I was a winner in my day.” He smiled and looked down at his
bulgingpaunch.“Thoughmydaywassometimeago,ofcourse.”Apoliteripple
oflaughter passed roundtheroom. I notice that I don’t get a mention. Not all
winnersareenviable,eh?
“Victors at the Contest,” continued the Lord Chamberlain, “have so often
goneontogreatthings.Ihope,andindeedweallhope,thatitmayprovesofor
ouryoungfriend,CaptainLuthar.”IhopehemeetsaslowdeathinAngland,the
cheatinglittlebastard.ButGloktaraisedhisglassalongwitheveryoneelseto
toastthearrogantass,whileLutharsatthere,lovingeveryinstantofit.
Andtothink.Isatinthatverychair,beingapplaudedandenviedandclapped
onthe backafterI wontheContest. Differentmenin thebigclothes, different
faces sweating in the heat, but nothing very much has changed. Was my grin
really any less smug? Of course not. If anything I was worse. But at least I
earnedit.
SuchwasLordHoffscommitmentthathedidnotstoptoastinguntilhisgoblet
wasentirelyempty,thenheshoveditbackonthetableandlickedhislips.“And
now,beforethefoodarrives,asmallsurprisehasbeenpreparedbymycolleague
ArchLectorSult,inhonourofanotherofourguests.Ihopeyouwillallfindit
diverting.”AndtheLordChamberlainsatheavilybackdown,holdinghisempty
gobletoutformorewine.
GloktaglancedacrossatSult.Asurprise,fromtheArchLector?Badnewsfor
somebody.
Theheavyredcurtainsofthestagerolledslowlyback.Theyrevealedanold
man lying on the boards, his white garment daubed with colourful blood. A
broad canvas behind depicted a forest scene beneath a starry sky. It reminded
Glokta rather unpleasantly of the mural in the round room. The room beneath
Severard’scrumblingpilebythedocks.
A second old man swept on from the wings: a tall, slender man with
remarkablyfine,sharpfeatures.Hisheadwasshavedbaldandhehadgrowna
shortwhitebeard,butGloktarecognisedhimimmediately.IosivLestek,oneof
the city’s most respected actors. He gave a mannered start as he noticed the
bloodycorpse.
“Oooooooh!”hewailed,spreadinghisarmswideinanactor’sapproximation
ofshockand despair.It was atrulyenormousvoice, loud enough tomakethe
rafters shake. Confident that he had the undivided attention of the chamber,
Lestek began to intone his lines, hands sweeping through the air, towering
passionssweepingacrosshisface.
Sohere,atlast,mymasterJuvenslies,
Andwithhisdeathallhopeofpeacenowdies,
ByKanedias’treacheryundone.
Hispassingisthesettingofthesun
Uponanage.
Theoldactorthrewbackhishead,andGloktasawtearssparklinginhiseyes.
Aneattrick,tocryondemandlikethat.Alonelydroptrickledslowlydownhis
cheek,andtheaudiencesatspellbound.Heturnedonceagaintothebody.
Herebrothermurdersbrother.Allslowtime
Canneverhaverecordedsuchacrime.
Ihalfexpecttoseethestarsgoout.
Whydoesthegroundnotopenupandspout
Someragingflame?
Hethrewhimselfdownonhiskneesandbeatuponhisageingbreast.
Ohbitterfate,Iwouldmosthappily
Nowjoinmymaster,butitcannotbe!
Forwhenagreatmandies,wethatremain
Thoughinanarrowedworld,mustbravethepain
Andstruggleonward.
Lesteklookedslowlyuptowardstheaudience,slowlyclamberedtohisfeet,
hisexpressionshiftingfromdeepestsorrowtogrimmestdetermination.
ForthoughtheMaker’shouseislockedandbarred,
Allcarvedfromrockandsteel,allwondroushard,
IfImustwaituntilthatsteelisrust,
Orwithmybarehandscrushthatrocktodust,
I’llhavemyvengeance!
The actor’s eyes flashed fire as he flicked out his robe and strode from the
stagetorapturousapplause.Itwasacondensedversionofafamiliarpiece,often
performed. Although rarely so well. Glokta was surprised to find himself
clapping.Quitetheperformancesofar.Nobility,passion,command.Agreatdeal
more convincing than another fake Bayaz I could mention. He sat back in his
chair,easinghisleftlegoutunderthetable,andpreparedtoenjoytheshow.
Logen watched with his face screwed up in confusion. He guessed that this
wasoneofthespectaclesthatBayazhadspokenof,buthisgriponthelanguage
wasn’tgoodenoughtocatchthedetails.
They swept up and down the stage with much sighing and waving of their
hands,dressedinbrightcostumesandspeakinginsomekindofchant.Twoof
themweresupposedtobedark-skinned,hethought,butwereclearlypalemen
with black paint on their faces. In another scene, the one playing Bayaz
whisperedtoawomanthroughadoor,seemingtopleadwithhertoopenit,only
thedoorwasapieceofpaintedwoodstooduponitsowninthemiddleofthe
stage, and the woman was a boy in a dress. It would have been easier, Logen
thought,tosteparoundthepieceofwoodandspeaktohimorherdirectly.
Logen was sure of one thing, though—the real Bayaz was seriously
displeased.Hecouldfeelhisannoyancemountingwitheachscene.Itreacheda
teeth-grindingpeakwhenthevillainofthepiece,abigmanwithagloveandan
eye-patch, pushed the boy in the dress over some wooden battlements. It was
plainthatheorshewasmeanttohavefallenagreatdistance,eventhoughLogen
couldhearhimhitsomethingsoftjustbehindthestage.
“How fucking dare they?” the real Bayaz growled under his breath. Logen
would have got all the way out of the room if he could’ve, but he had to be
content with shuffling his chair towards West, as far from the Magus’ fury as
possible.
Onthestage,theotherBayazwasbattlingtheoldmanwiththegloveandthe
eye-patch, although they fought by walking round in circles and talking a lot.
Finallythevillainfollowedtheboyoffthebackofthestage,butnotbeforehis
adversarytookanenormousgoldenkeyfromhim.
“There’smoredetailherethanintheoriginal,”mutteredtherealBayaz,ashis
counterpart held up the key and spouted some more verse. Logen was little
further on when the performance came to a close, but he caught the last two
lines,justbeforetheoldactorbowedlow:
Prayyourindulgence,atourstory’send,
Ourhumblepurposewasnottooffend.
“My fucking old arse it wasn’t,” hissed Bayaz through gritted teeth, while
fixingagrinandclappingenthusiastically.
GloktawatchedLestektakeafewlastbowsasthecurtainsclosedonhim,the
goldenkeystillshininginhishand.ArchLectorSultrosefromhischairasthe
applausedied.
“I am so glad you enjoyed our little diversion,” he said, smiling smoothly
roundattheappreciativegathering.“Idonotdoubtthatmanyofyouhaveseen
thispiecebefore,butithasaspecialsignificancethisevening.CaptainLutharis
nottheonlycelebratedfigureinourmidst,thereisasecondguestofhonourhere
tonight.Noneotherthanthesubjectofourplay—Bayazhimself,theFirstofthe
Magi!”Sultsmiledandheldouthisarmtowardstheoldfakeontheothersideof
theroom.TherewasagentlerustlingaseveryguestturnedfromtheArchLector
tolookathim.
Bayazsmiledback.“Goodevening,”hesaid.Afewoftheworthieslaughed,
suspecting some further little game perhaps, but Sult did not laugh with them
andtheirmerrimentwasshortlived.Anuneasysilencedescendedonthehall.A
deadlysilence,perhaps.
“TheFirst oftheMagi. Hehas been withus intheAgriont nowforseveral
weeks.Heandafew…companions.”Sultglanceddownhisnoseatthescarred
Northman,andthenbacktotheself-styledMagus.“Bayaz.”Herolledtheword
aroundhismouth,allowingittosinkintohislisteners’ears.“Thefirstletterin
the alphabet of the old tongue. First apprentice of Juvens, first letter of the
alphabet,isthatnotso,MasterBayaz?”
“Why, Arch Lector,” asked the old man, still smirking, “have you been
checkinguponme?”Impressive.Evennow,whenhemustsensethegamewill
soonbeover,hestickstohisrole.
Sultwasunmovedhowever.“Itismydutythoroughlytoinvestigateanyone
whomightposeathreattomyKingorcountry,”heintonedstiffly.
“Howfearsomelypatrioticofyou.YourinvestigationsnodoubtrevealedthatI
amstillamemberoftheClosedCouncil,evenifmychairstandsemptyforthe
timebeing.IbelieveLordBayazwouldbethepropertermofaddress.”
Sult’s cold smile did not slip even a hair’s breath. “And when exactly was
yourlastvisit,LordBayaz?Itwouldseemthatsomeonesodeeplyinvolvedin
ourhistorywouldhavetakenmoreofaninterestovertheyears.Why,ifImay
ask, in the centuries since the birth of the Union, since the time of Harod the
Great, have you not been back to visit us?” A good question. I wish it had
occurredtome.
“Oh, but I have been. During the reign of King Morlic the Mad, and in the
civilwarwhichfollowed,IwastutortoayoungmancalledArnault.Later,when
MorlicwasmurderedandArnaultwasraisedtothethronebytheOpenCouncil,
I served as his Lord Chamberlain. I called myself Bialoveld in those days. I
visitedagaininKingCasamir’sreign.HecalledmeZoller,andIhadyourjob,
ArchLector.”
Gloktacouldbarelycontainagaspofindignation,andheardothersfromthe
chairs around him. He has no shame, I’ll give him that. Bialoveld, and Zoller,
twooftheUnionsmostrespectedservants.Howdarehe?Andyet…Hepictured
thepaintingofZollerintheArchLectorsstudy,andthestatueofBialoveldin
the Kingsway. Both bald, both stern, both bearded… but what am I thinking?
Major West is thinning out on top. Does that make him a legendary wizard?
Mostlikelythischarlatanmerelypickedthetwobaldestfigureshecouldfind.
Sult,meanwhile,wastryingadifferenttack.“Tellmethis,then,Bayaz:itisa
story well known that Harod himself doubted you when you first came to his
hall,allthoselongyearsago.Asproofofyourpower,youbrokehislongtable
intwo.Itmaybethattherearesomescepticsamongusheretonight.Wouldyou
considersuchademonstrationforus,now?”
The colder Sult’s tone became, the less the old fraud seemed to care. He
dismissedthislatesteffortwithalazywaveofhishand.“Whatyouspeakofis
notjuggling,ArchLector,orplayingonthestage.Therearealwaysdangers,and
costs.Besides,itwouldbeagreatshametospoilCaptainLuthar’sfeastsimply
so I could show off, don’t you think? Not to mention the waste of a fine old
pieceoffurniture.I,unlikesomanyothersthesedays,haveahealthyrespectfor
thepast.”
Someweresmilinguncertainlyastheywatchedthetwooldmenfencingwith
each other, perhaps still suspecting an elaborate joke. Others knew better and
were frowning hard, trying to work out what was going on, and who had the
upper hand. High Justice Marovia, Glokta noticed, looked to be thoroughly
enjoying himself. Almost as if he knows something we don’t. Glokta shifted
uncomfortablyinhischair,eyesfixedonthebaldactor.Thingsarenotgoingas
wellastheyshouldbe.Whenwillhebegintosweat?When?
SomeoneplacedabowlofsteamingsoupinfrontofLogen.Nodoubtitwas
meanttobeeaten,butnowhisappetitewasgone.Logenmightbenocourtier,
but he could spot folk working up to violence when he saw them. With each
exchange between the two old men their smiles slipped further, their voices
becameharder,thehallseemedtogrowcloserandmoreoppressive.Everyonein
theroomwaslookingworriednow—West,theproudladwho’dwonthatsword
game because of Bayaz’ cheating, the feverish cripple who’d asked all the
questions…
Logenfeltthehairsonhisneckrising.Thereweretwofigureslurkinginthe
nearestdoorway.Black-clothedfigures,black-masked.Hiseyesflickedacrossto
theotherentrances.Eachheldtwoofthosemaskedfigures,twoatleast,andhe
didn’treckontheywereheretocollecttheplates.
Theywerehereforhim.ForhimandBayaz,hecouldfeelit.Amandoesn’t
putonamaskunlesshe’sgotsomedarkworkinmind.Therewasnowaythathe
coulddealwithhalfthatmany,butheslidaknifefrombesidehisplateandhidit
behind his arm anyway. If they tried to take him, he’d fight. That didn’t need
thinkingabout.
Bayazwasstarting to sound angry. “I havesuppliedyou with all the proofs
you’veaskedfor,ArchLector!”
“Proofs!”ThetallmantheycalledSultgaveacoldsneer.“Youdealinwords
and dusty papers! More the business of a snivelling clerk than the stuff of
legend!SomewouldsaythataMaguswithoutmagicissimplyameddlingold
man! We are at war, and can take no chances! You mentioned Arch Lector
Zoller. Hisdiligence inthecause oftruthis welldocumented.You,Iam sure,
mustunderstandmine.”Heleanedforward,plantinghisfistsfirmlyonthetable
beforehim.“Showusmagic,Bayaz,orshowusthekey!”
Logenswallowed.Hedidn’tlikethewaythatthingsweregoing,butthenhe
didn’tunderstandtherulesofthisgame.HehadputhistrustinBayaz,forsome
reason,andthereitwouldhavetostay.Itwasalittlelatetobechangingsides.
“Haveyounothingleftto say?” demanded Sult. He slowly lowered himself
intohischair,smilingoncemore.HiseyesslidovertothearchwaysandLogen
feltthemaskedfiguresmovingforward,strainingtobereleased.“Haveyouno
morewords?Haveyounomoretricks?”
“Onlyone.”Bayazreachedintohiscollar.Hetookholdofsomethingthere,
and drew it out—a long, thin chain. One of the black-masked figures stepped
forward a pace, expecting a weapon, and Logen’s hand gripped tighter on the
handleoftheknife,butwhenthechaincameallthewayouttherewasonlyarod
ofdarkmetaldanglingontheendofit.
“Thekey,”saidBayaz,holdingituptothecandlelight.Itbarelyshoneatall.
“Lesslustrethantheoneinyourplay,perhaps,buttherealthing,Iassureyou.
Kanediasneverworkedwithgold.Hedidnotlikeprettythings.Helikedthings
thatworked.”
TheArchLector’slipcurled.“Doyousimplyexpectustotakeyourwordfor
it?”
“Ofcoursenot.Itisyourjobtobesuspiciousofeveryone,andImustsayyou
do it exceptionally well. It does grow rather late however, so I will wait until
tomorrowmorningtoopentheHouseoftheMaker.”Someonedroppedaspoon
on the floor, and it clattered against the tiles. “There will need to be some
witnessespresent, of course, tomakesurethat I don’ttry anysleightof hand.
Howabout…”Bayaz’coolgreeneyessweptdownthetable.“InquisitorGlokta,
and…yournewfencingchampion,CaptainLuthar?”
Thecripplefrownedashewasnamed.Lutharlookedutterlybewildered.The
ArchLectorsat,hisscornswappedforastonyblankness.HegazedfromBayaz’
smilingfacetothatgentlyswingingrodofdarkmetal,thenbackagain.Hiseyes
movedovertooneofthedoorways,andhegiveatinyshakeofhishead.The
dark figures faded back into the shadows. Logen unclenched his aching teeth,
thenquietlyslippedtheknifebackontothetable.
Bayazgrinned.“Dearme,MasterSult,youreallyareahardmantoplease.”
“I believe your Eminence is the proper term of address,” hissed the Arch
Lector.
“So it is, so it is. I do declare, you really won’t be happy until I’ve broken
some furniture. I would hate to spill everyone’s soup though, so…” With a
suddenbang,theArchLector’schaircollapsed.Hishandshotoutandgrabbedat
thetableclothasheplungedtothefloorinaclatteringmessofloosefirewood,
andsprawledinthewreckagewithagroan.TheKingstartedawake,hisguests
blinked,andgasped,andstared.Bayazignoredthem.
“Thisreallyisanexcellentsoup,”hesaid,slurpingnoisilyfromhisspoon.
TheHouseoftheMaker
Itwasastormyday,andtheHouseoftheMakerstoodstarkandgrim,ahuge
dark shape against the ragged clouds. A cold wind whipped between the
buildings and through the squares of the Agriont, making the tails of Glokta’s
blackcoatflaparoundhimasheshuffledafterCaptainLutharandthewould-be
Magus,thescarredNorthmanathisside.Heknewtheywerewatched.Watched
the whole way. Behind the windows, in the doorways, on the roofs. The
Practicalswereeverywhere,hecouldfeeltheireyes.
Gloktahadhalfexpected,halfhoped,thatBayazandhiscompanionswould
have disappeared in the night, but they had not. The bald old man seemed as
relaxedasifhehadundertakentoopenafruitcellar,andGloktadidnotlikeit.
Whendoesthebluffend?Whendoeshethrowhishandsupandadmitit’salla
game? When we reach the University? When we cross the bridge? When we
standbeforetheverygateoftheMaker’sHouseandhiskeydoesnotfit?But
somewhereinthebackofhismindthethoughtlurked:Whatifitdoesnotend?
Whatifthedooropens?Whatifhetrulyisasheclaimstobe?
BayazchatteredtoLutharastheystrolledacrosstheemptycourtyardtowards
the University. Every bit as much at ease as a grandfather with his favourite
grandson,andeverybitasboring.“…ofcourse,thecityissomuchlargerthan
whenIlastvisited.ThatdistrictyoucalltheThreeFarms,allteemingbustleand
activity. I remember when that whole borough was three farms! Indeed I do!
Andfarbeyondthecitywalls!”
“Erm…”saidLuthar.
“AndasfortheSpicers’newguildhall,Ineversawsuchostentation…”
Glokta’smindracedashelimpedafterthetwoofthem,trawlingforhidden
meanings in the sea of blather, grasping for order in the chaos. The questions
tumbledovereach other.Why pick me as a witness? Why not the Arch Lector
himself?DoesthisBayazsupposethatIcanbeeasilyfooled?AndwhyLuthar?
BecausehewontheContest?Andhowdidhewin?Isheapartofthisdeception?
ButifLutharwaspartytosomesinisterplan,hewasgivingnosign.Gloktahad
never seen the slightest hint that he was anything other than the self-obsessed
youngfoolheappearedtobe.
And then we come to this puzzle. Glokta glanced sidelong at the big
Northman.Therewerenosignsofdeadlyintentonhisscarredface, littlesign
thatanythingwasgoingoninthereatall.Isheverystupidorveryclever?Ishe
to be ignored, or feared? Is he the servant, or the master? There were no
answerstoanyofit.Yet.
“Well, this place is a shadow of its former self,” said Bayaz as they halted
outside the door to the University, raising an eyebrow at the grimy, tilting
statues. He rapped briskly on the weathered wood and the door swayed on its
hinges.ToGlokta’ssurprise,itopenedalmostimmediately.
“You’reexpected,”croakedtheancientporter.Theysteppedaroundhiminto
thegloom.“Iwillshowyouto—”begantheoldmanashewrestledthecreaking
doorshut.
“Noneed,”calledBayazoverhisshoulder,alreadystridingbrisklyoffdown
the dusty corridor, “I know the way!” Glokta struggled to keep up, sweating
despitethecoldweather,legburningalltheway.Theeffortofmaintainingthe
pace scarcely gave him time to consider how the bald bastard might be so
familiar with the building. But familiar he certainly is. He swept down the
corridorsasthoughhehadspenteverydayofhislifethere,clickinghistongue
indisgustatthestateoftheplaceandprattlingallthewhile.
“…I’veneverseensuchdust,eh,CaptainLuthar?Iwouldn’tbesurprisedif
the damn place hadn’t been cleaned since I was last here! I’ve no idea how a
mancan thinkundersuch conditions!Noidea at all…”Centuries ofdeadand
justly forgotten Adepti stared gloomily down from their canvases, as though
upsetbyallthenoise.
The corridors of the University rolled past, an ancient, dusty, forsaken-
seemingplace,withnothinginitbutgrimyoldpaintingsandmustyoldbooks.
Jezalhadpreciouslittleuseforbooks.
Hehadreadafewaboutfencingandriding,acoupleaboutfamousmilitary
campaigns,onceopenedthecoversonagreatbighistoryoftheUnionhefound
inhisfather’sstudy,andgotboredafterthreeorfourpages.
Bayazdronedon.“HerewefoughtwiththeMaker’sservants.Irememberit
well. They cried out to Kanedias to save them, but he would not come down.
Thesehallsranwithblood,rangwithscreams,rolledwithsmokethatday.”
Jezalhadnoideawhytheoldfoolwouldsinglehimouttotellhistallstories
to,andstilllesshowtoreply.“Thatsounds…violent.”
Bayaznodded.“Itwas.Iamnotproudofit.Butgoodmenmustsometimesdo
violentthings.”
“Uh,”saidtheNorthmansuddenly.Jezalhadnotbeenawarethathewaseven
listening.
“Besides,thatwasadifferentage.Aviolentage.OnlyintheOldEmpirewere
people advanced beyond the primitive. Midderland, the heart of the Union,
believeitornot,wasasty.Awastelandofwarring,barbarictribes.Theluckiest
among them were taken into the Maker’s service. The rest were painted-face
savages,withoutwriting,withoutscience,withbarelyanythingtoseparatethem
fromthebeasts.”
JezalglancedfurtivelyupatNinefingers.Itwasnotatalldifficulttopicturea
barbaricstatewiththatbigbrutebesidehim,butitwasridiculoustosupposethat
his beautiful home had once been a wasteland, that he was descended from
primitives. This bald old man was a blathering liar, or a madman, but some
importantpeopleseemedtotakehimseriously.
AndJezalthoughtitbestalwaystodowhattheimportantpeoplesaid.
Logen followed the others into a broken-down courtyard, bounded on three
sides by the crumbling buildings of the University, on the fourth by the inner
faceofthesheerwalloftheAgriont.Allwascoveredinoldmoss,thickivy,dry
brambles.Amansatonaricketychairamongtheweeds,watchingthemcome
closer.
“I’vebeenexpectingyou,”hesaid,pushinghimselfupwithsomedifficulty.
“Damnknees, I’mnotwhat I usedto be.” Anunremarkableman pastmiddle-
age,inathreadbareshirtwithstainsdownthefront.
Bayazfrownedathim.“YouaretheChiefWarden?”
“Iam.”
“Andwherearetherestofyourcompany?”
“Mywifeisgettingthebreakfastready,butnotcountingher,well,Iamthe
wholecompany.It’seggs,”hesaidhappily,pattinghisstomach.
“What?”
“Forbreakfast.Ilikeeggs.”
“Goodforyou,”mutteredBayaz,lookingslightlyputout.“InKingCasamir’s
reign,thebravestfiftymenoftheBang’sOwnwereappointedWardensofthe
House,toguardthisgate.Therewasconsideredtobenohigherhonour.”
“That was a long time ago,” said the one and only Warden, plucking at his
dirtyshirt.“TherewerenineofuswhenIwasalad,buttheywentontoother
things,ordied,andwereneverreplaced.Don’tknowwho’lltakeoverwhenI’m
gone.Therehaven’tbeentoomanyapplicants.”
“You surprise me.” Bayaz cleared his throat. “Oh, Chief Warden! I, Bayaz,
FirstoftheMagi,seekyourleavetopassupthestairtothefifthgate,beyondthe
fifthgateandontothebridge,acrossthebridgeandtothedooroftheMaker’s
House.”
TheChiefWardensquintedback.“Yousure?”
Bayazwasgrowingimpatient.“Yes,why?”
“Irememberthelastfellowwhotriedit,waybackwhenIwasalad.Somebig
man,Ireckon,somethinker.Hewentupthosestepswithtenstrongworkmen,
chiselsandhammersandpicksandwhat-have-you,tellingushowhewasgoing
toopenuptheHouse,bringoutitstreasuresandall.Fiveminutesandtheywere
back,sayingnothing,lookingliketheysawthedeadwalk.”
“Whathappened?”murmuredLuthar.
“Don’tknow,buttheyhadnotreasureswiththem,Icantellyouthat.”
“Withoutdoubtadauntingstory,”saidBayaz,“butwe’regoing.”
“Yourbusiness,Isuppose.”Andtheoldmanturnedandslouchedacrossthe
miserable courtyard. Up a narrow stair they went, the steps worn down in the
middle,uptoatunnelthroughthehighwalloftheAgriont,ontoanarrowgate
inthedarkness.
Logen felt an odd sense of worry as the bolts slid back. He shrugged his
shoulders,tryingtogetridofit,andtheWardengrinnedathim.“Youcanfeelit
already,eh?”
“Feelwhat?”
“TheMaker’sbreath,theycallit.”Hegavethedoorsthegentlestshove.They
swung open together, light spilling through into the darkness. “The Maker’s
breath.”
Glokta tottered across the bridge, teeth clenched tight on gums, painfully
awareofthevolumeofemptyairbeneathhisfeet.Itwasasingle,delicatearch,
leaping from high up on the wall of the Agriont to the gate of the Maker’s
House.Hehadoftenadmireditfromdowninthecity,ontheothersideofthe
lake,wonderinghowithadstayedupalltheseyears.Aspectacular,remarkable,
beautifulthing.Itdoesnotseemsobeautifulnow.Notmuchwiderthanaman
lying down, too narrow by far for comfort, and with a terrifying drop to the
waterbelow.Worsestill,ithadnoparapet.Notsomuchasawoodenhandrail.
Andthebreezeisratherfreshtoday.
LutharandNinefingersseemedworriedenoughbyit.Andtheyhavethefree
and painless use of both their legs. Only Bayaz made the long trip across
withoutapparentworry,asconfidentasifhisfeetwereonacountrylane.
TheywalkedalwaysinthevastshadowoftheHouseoftheMaker,ofcourse.
Theclosertheycame,themoremassiveitseemed,itslowestparapetfarhigher
thanthewalloftheAgriont.Astarkblackmountain,risingsheerfromthelake
below, blotting out the sun. A thing from a different age, built on a different
scale.
Gloktaglancedbacktowardsthegatebehindhim.Didhecatchaglimpseof
something between the battlements on the wall above? A Practical watching?
Theywouldseetheoldmanfailtoopenthedoor.Theywouldbewaitingtotake
him on their way back through. But until then, I am helpless. It was not a
comfortingthought.
AndGloktawasinneedofcomfort.Ashetotteredfurtheracrossthebridge,a
niggling fear swelled inside him. It was more than the height, more than the
strangecompany,morethanthegreattowerloomingabove.Abasefear,without
reason.Theanimalterrorofanightmare.Witheveryshufflingstepthefeeling
grew.Hecouldseethedoornow,asquareofdarkmetalsetbackintothesmooth
stonesofthetower.Acircleofletterswasetchedintothecentreofit.Forsome
reason they made Glokta want to vomit, but he dragged himself closer. Two
circles:largelettersandsmallletters,aspideryscripthedidnotrecognise.His
gutschurned.Manycircles:lettersandlines,toodetailedtotakein.Theyswam
before his stinging, weeping eyes. Glokta could go no further. He stood there,
leaningonhiscane,fightingwitheveryounceofwillagainsttheneedtofallto
hisknees,turnandcrawlaway.
Ninefingerswasfaringlittlebetter,breathinghardthroughhisnose,alookof
the most profound horror and disgust on his face. Luthar was in considerably
worseshape:teethgritted,white-facedandpalsied.Hedroppedslowlydownon
oneknee,gasping,asGloktaedgedpasthim.
Bayazdidnotseemafraid.Hesteppedrightuptothedoorandranhisfingers
overthelargersymbols.“Elevenwards,andelevenwardsreversed.”Hetraced
thecircleofsmallercharacters.“Andeleventimeseleven.”Hisfingerfollowed
thefinelineoutsidethem.Canitbethatlineismadeoftinyletterstoo?“Who
cansayhowmanyhundredshere?Truly,amostpotentenchantment!”
ThesenseofawewasonlyslightlydiminishedbythesoundofLutharpuking
noisily over the side of the bridge. “What does it say?” croaked Glokta,
swallowingsomebileofhisown.
The old man grinned at him. “Can you not feel it, Inquisitor? It says turn
away.Itsaysgetyougone.Itsays…none…shall…pass.Butthemessageisnot
forus.”Hereachedintohiscollarandpulledouttherodofmetal.Thesamedark
metalasthedooritself.
“We shouldn’t be here,” growled Ninefingers from behind. “This place is
dead.Weshouldgo.”ButBayazdidnotseemtohear.
“Themagichasleakedoutoftheworld,”Gloktaheardhimmurmuring,“and
all the achievements of Juvens lie in ruins.” He weighed the key in his hand,
broughtitslowlyupwards.“ButtheMaker’sworksstandstrong asever.Time
hasnotdiminishedthem…noreverwill.”Theredidnotevenseemtobeahole,
butthekeyslidslowlyintothedoor.Slowly,slowly,intotheverycentreofthe
circles.Gloktaheldhisbreath.
Click.
Andnothinghappened.Thedoordidnotopen.Thatisallthen.Thegameis
over. He felt asurgeof relief as heturnedback towards theAgriont,raising a
handtosignaltothePracticalsonthewallabove.Ineednotgofurther.Ineed
not.Thenanansweringechocamefromdeepwithin.
Click.
Gloktafelthisfacetwitchinsympathywiththesound.DidIimagineit?He
hopedso,withallhisbeing.
Click.
Again.Nomistake.Andnow,beforehisdisbelievingeyes, thecirclesin the
door began to turn. Glokta took a stunned step back, his cane scraping on the
stonesofthebridge.
Click,click.
There had been no sign that the metal was not all one piece, no cracks, no
grooves,nomechanism,andyetthecirclesspan,eachatadifferentspeed.
Click,click,click…
Fasternow,andfaster.Gloktafeltdizzy.Theinnermostring,withthelargest
letters,wasstillcrawling.Theoutermost,thethinnestone,wasflyingroundtoo
fastforhiseyestofollow…click,click,click,click,click…
Shapes formed in the markings as the symbols passed each other: lines,
squares,triangles,unimaginablyintricate,dancingbeforehiseyesthenvanishing
asthewheelsspunon…
Click.
And the circles were still, arranged in a new pattern. Bayaz reached up and
pulled the key from the door. There was a soft hissing, barely audible, as of
waterfar away, and a longcrackappearedin the door.The twohalvesmoved
slowly,smoothlyawayfromeachother.Thespacebetweenthemgrewsteadily
larger.
Click.
Theyslidintothewalls,flushwiththesidesofthesquarearchway.Thedoor
stoodopen.
“Nowthat,”saidBayazsoftly,“iscraftsmanship.”
No fetid wind spilled out, no stench of rot or decay, no sign of long years
passed,onlyawaftofcool,dryair.Andyetthefeelingisofopeningacoffin.
Silence,butforthewindfumblingacrossthedarkstones,thebreathsighingin
Glokta’s dry throat, the distant lapping of the water far below. The unearthly
terrorwasgone.Hefeltonlyadeepworryashestaredintotheopenarchway.
But no worse than when I wait outside the Arch Lector’s office. Bayaz turned
round,smiling.
“LongyearshavepassedsinceIsealedthisplace,andinallthatslowtimeno
manhascrossedthethreshold.Youthreearetrulyhonoured.”Gloktadidnotfeel
honoured. He felt ill. “There are dangers within. Touch nothing, and go only
where I lead you. Follow close behind me, for the ways are not always the
same.”
“Notthesame?”askedGlokta.“Howcanthatbe?”
Theoldmanshrugged.“Iamonlythedoorman,”hesaidasheslippedthekey
anditschainbackinsidehisshirt,“notthearchitect.”Andhesteppedintothe
shadows.
Jezaldidnotfeelwell,notwellatall.Itwasnotsimplythevilenauseathat
the letters on the doors had somehow created, it was more. A lurch of sudden
shock and disgust, like picking up a cup and drinking, expecting water, and
findingsomethingelseinside.Pissperhaps,inthiscase.Thatsamewaveofugly
surprise, but stretching out over minutes, over hours. Things that he had
dismissedasfoolishness,oroldstories,weresuddenlyrevealedasfactsbefore
hiseyes.Theworldwasadifferentplacethanithadbeenthedaybefore,aweird
andunsettlingplace,andhehadinfinitelypreferreditthewayitwas.
He could not understand why he had to be here. Jezal knew precious little
abouthistory.Kanedias,Juvens,Bayazeven,theywerenamesfromdustybooks,
heardasachildandholdingnointeresteventhen.Itwasjustbadluck,badluck
was all. He had won the Contest, and here he was, wandering about in some
strangeoldtower.Thatwasallitwas.Astrangeoldtower.
“Welcome,”saidBayaz,“totheHouseoftheMaker.”
Jezallookedupfromthefloorandhisjawsaggedopen.Theword“house”did
littletodescribethevastnessofthedimspaceinwhichhefoundhimself.The
Lords’ Rounditselfcould havefittedcomfortablyinsideit,theentirebuilding,
with room to spare. The walls were made from rough stones, unfinished,
unmortared,piledhaphazardly,butrisingendlesslyupward,upward.Abovethe
centre of the room, far above, something was suspended. A huge, fascinating
something.
It put Jezal in mind of a navigator’s instruments, rendered on an enormous
scale.Asystemofgiganticmetalrings,shininginthedimlight,oneaboutthe
other, with further, smaller rings running between them, inside them, around
them.Hundredsofthemperhaps,alltold,scoredwithmarkings:writingmaybe,
ormeaninglessscratches.Alargeblackballhunginthecentre.
Bayaz was already walking out into the vast circle of the floor, covered in
intricatelines,setintothedarkstoneinbrightmetal,hisfootfallsechoinghigh
above. Jezal crept after him. There was something frightening, something
dizzying,aboutmovingacrossaspacesohuge.
“ThisisMidderland,”saidBayaz.
“What?”
The old man pointed down. The squiggly lines of metal began to take on
meaning. Coastlines, mountains, rivers, the land and the sea. The shape of
Midderland,clearinJezal’smindfromahundredmaps,waslaidoutbeneathhis
feet.
“The whole Circle of the World.” Bayaz gestured across the endless floor.
“Thatwayis Angland, and beyond, theNorth.Gurkhulis over there. Thereis
Starikland,andtheOldEmpire,andoverheretheCityStatesofStyria,beyond
themSuljukanddistantThond.Kanediasobservedthatthelandsoftheknown
Worldformacircle,withitscentrehere,athisHouse,anditsouteredgepassing
throughtheislandofShabulyan,fartothewest,beyondtheOldEmpire.”
“TheedgeoftheWorld,”mutteredtheNorthman,noddingslowlytohimself.
“Some arrogance,” snorted Glokta, “to think of your home as the centre of
everything.”
“Huh.”Bayazlookedabouthimatthevastnessofthechamber.“TheMaker
wasnevershortonarrogance.Norwerehisbrothers.”
Jezal stared up gormlessly. The room was even higher than it was wide, its
ceiling,iftherewasone,lostinshadow.Anironrailranroundtheroughstone
walls,agalleryperhapstwentystridesabove.Beyondit,higherstill,therewas
another, and another, and another, vague in the half light. Over all hung the
strangedevice.
Hegaveasuddenstart.Itwasmoving!Itwasallmoving!Slowly,smoothly,
silently, the rings shifted, turned, revolved one about the other. He could not
imaginehowitwasdriven.Somehow,thekeyturninginthelockmusthaveset
itoff…orcouldithavebeenturningalltheseyears?
Hefeltdizzy. Thewholemechanismnowseemedto bespinning,revolving,
fasterandfaster,thegalleriestoo,shirtinginoppositedirections.Staringstraight
upwardswasnothelpingwithhissenseofdisorientation,andhefixedhisaching
eyesonthefloor,onthemapofMidderlandbeneathhisfeet.Hegasped.That
wasevenworse!Nowthewholefloorseemedtobeturning!Theentirechamber
wasrevolvingaroundhim!Thearchwaysleadingoutwereallidentical,adozen
ofthemormore.Hecouldnotguessnowthroughwhichonetheyhadentered.
Hefeltawaveofhorriblepanic.Onlythatdistantblackorbinthecentreofthe
devicewasstill.Hefixedhiswateringeyesdesperatelyonthat,forcedhimselfto
breatheslow.
Thefeeling faded.Thevast hallwasstill again,almost.The ringswerestill
shifting,almostimperceptibly,inchingeveronwards.Heswallowedamouthful
ofspit,hunchedhisshoulders,andhurriedaftertheotherswithhisheaddown.
“Not that way!” roared Bayaz suddenly, his voice exploding in the thick
silence, ripping out and bouncing back, echoing a thousand times around the
cavernousspace.
“Notthatway!”
“Notthatway!”
Jezal jumped backwards. The archway, and the dim hall beyond, looked
identicaltotheonedownwhichtheothershadbeenwalking,buthesawnow
thattheywereofftohisright.Hehadgotturnedaroundsomehow.
“GoonlywhereIgo,Isaid!”hissedtheoldman.
“Notthatway.”
“Notthatway.”
“I’m sorry,” stammered Jezal, his voice sounding pitifully small in the vast
space,“Ithought…italllooksthesame!”
Bayazplacedareassuringhandonhisshoulderanddrewhimsmoothlyaway.
“Ididnotmeantoscareyou,myfriend,butitwouldbeagreatshameifoneso
promisingweretakenfromusquitesoyoung.”Jezalswallowedandstaredinto
theshadowyhallway,wonderingwhatmighthaveawaitedhimdownthere.His
mindprovidedanynumberofunpleasantpossibilities.
Theechoesstillwhisperedathimasheturnedaway.“…notthatway,notthat
way,notthatway…”
Logenhatedthisplace.Thestoneswerecoldanddead,theairwasstilland
dead, even the sounds they made as they moved fell muffled and lifeless. It
wasn’t cold and it wasn’t hot, and yet his back trickled with sweat, his neck
prickled with aimless fear. He’d jerk around every few steps, stung by the
suddenfeelinghewasbeingwatched,buttherewasneveranyonebehindhim.
Only the boy Luthar and the cripple Glokta, looking every bit as worried and
confusedashewas.
“Wechasedhimthroughtheseveryhalls,”murmuredBayazquietly.“Eleven
of us. All the Magi, together for the last time. All but Khalul. Zacharus, and
Cawneil, they fought with the Maker here, and each was bested. They were
fortunate to escape with their lives. Anselmi and Brokentooth had worse luck.
Kanediaswasthedeathofthem.Twogoodfriends,twobrothers,Ilostthatday.”
Theyedgedroundanarrowbalcony,litbyapalecurtainoflight.Ononeside
sheerstonesrosesmooth,ontheothertheydroppedawayandwerelostinthe
darkness. A black pit, full of shadows, with no far side, no top, no bottom.
Despitethevastnessofthespacetherewerenoechoes.Noairmoved.Therewas
notthetiniestbreeze.Theairwasstaleandcloseasatomb.
“Thereshouldbewaterdownthere,surely,”mutteredGlokta,frowningover
the rail. “There should be something, shouldn’t there?” He squinted up.
“Where’stheceiling?”
“Thisplacestinks,”whinedLuthar,onehandclaspedoverhisnose.
Logenagreedwithhim, for once. It was a smell he knew well,andhislips
curledbackwithhatredatit.“SmellslikefuckingFlatheads.”
“Ohyes,”saidBayaz,“theShankaaretheMaker’sworkalso.”
“Hiswork?”
“Indeed.Hetookclay,andmetal,andleft-overfleshandhemadethem.”
Logenstared.“Hemadethem?”
“Tofightinhiswar.Againstus.AgainsttheMagi.AgainsthisbrotherJuvens.
HebredthefirstShankahereandletthemlooseupontheworld—togrow,and
breed,anddestroy.Thatwastheirpurpose.FormanyyearsafterKanedias’death
wehuntedthem,butwecouldnotcatchthemall.Wedrovethemintothedarkest
cornersoftheworld,andtheretheyhavegrownandbredagain,andnowcome
forthtogrow,andbreed,anddestroy,astheywerealwaysmeanttodo.”Logen
gawpedathim.
“Shanka.”Lutharchuckledandshookhishead.
Flatheads were no laughing matter. Logen turned suddenly, blocking the
narrowbalconywithhisbody,loomingoverLutharinthehalflight.“Something
funny?”
“Well,Imean,everyoneknowsthere’snosuchthing.”
“I’ve fought them with my own hands,” growled Logen, “all my life. They
killed my wife, my children, my friends. The North is swarming with fucking
Flatheads.”Heleaneddown.“Sodon’ttellmethere’snosuchthing.”
Lutharhadturnedpale.HelookedtoGloktaforsupport,buttheInquisitorhad
sagged against the wall, rubbing at his leg, thin lips tight shut, hollow face
beadedwithsweat.“Idon’tcareashiteitherway!”hesnapped.
“There’splentyofShankaintheworld,”hissedLogen,stickinghisfaceright
upclosetoLuthar’s.“Maybeonedayyou’llmeetsome.”Heturnedandstalked
offafterBayaz, already disappearing throughanarchwayat the far end ofthe
balcony.Hehadnowishtobeleftbehindinthisplace.
Yetanotherhall. An enormousone,lined with asilentforest ofcolumnson
eitherside,peopledwithamultitudeofshadows.Lightcutdowninshaftsfrom
farabove,etchingstrangepatternsintothestonefloor,shapesoflightanddark,
linesofblackandwhite.Almostlikewriting.Isthereamessagehere?Forme?
Glokta was trembling. If I looked, just for a moment longer, perhaps I could
understand…
Lutharwanderedpast,hisshadowfellacrossthefloor,thelineswerebroken,
thefeelingwasgone.Gloktashookhimself.Iamlosingmyreasoninthiscursed
place.Imustthinkclearly.Justthefacts,Glokta,onlythefacts.
“Wheredoesthelightcomefrom?”heasked.
Bayazwavedhishand.“Above.”
“Therearewindows?”
“Perhaps.”
Glokta’scanetappedintothelight,tappedintothedark,hisleftbootdragged
alongbehind.“Istherenothingbuthallway?What’sthepointofitall?”
“Who can know the Maker’s mind?” intoned Bayaz pompously, “or fathom
his great design?” He seemed almost to take pride in never giving straight
answers.
The whole place was a colossal waste of effort as far as Glokta could see.
“Howmanylivedhere?”
“Longyearsago,inhappiertimes,manyhundreds.Allmannerofpeoplewho
served Kanedias, and helped him in his works. But the Maker was ever
distrustful,andjealousofhissecrets.Bitbybitheturnedhisfollowersout,into
the Agriont, the University. Towards the end, only three lived here. Kanedias
himself,hisassistantJaremias,”Bayazpausedforamoment,“andhisdaughter
Tolomei.”
“TheMaker’sdaughter?”
“Whatofit?”snappedtheoldman.
“Nothing, nothing at all.” And yet the veneer slipped then, if only for an
instant.Itisstrangethatheknowsthewaysofthisplacesowell.“Whendidyou
livehere?”
Bayazfrowneddeep.“Thereissuchathingastoomanyquestions.”
Glokta watched him walk away. Sult was wrong. The Arch Lector, fallible
after all. He underestimated this Bayaz, and it cost him. Who is this bald,
irritablefool,whocanmakeasprawlingidiotofthemostpowerfulmaninthe
Union?Standinghere,deepwithinthebowelsofthisunearthlyplace,theanswer
didnotseemsostrange.
TheFirstoftheMagi.
“Thisisit.”
“What?”askedLogen.Thehallwaystretchedoutineitherdirection,curving
gently,disappearingintothedarkness,wallsofhugestoneblocks,unbrokenon
eitherside.
Bayaz did not answer. He was running his hands gently over the stones,
lookingforsomething.“Yes.Thisisit.”Bayazpulledthekeyoutfromhisshirt.
“Youmightwanttoprepareyourselves.”
“Forwhat?”
TheMagusslidthekeyintoanunseenhole.Oneoftheblocksthatmadeup
thewallssuddenlyvanished,flyingupintotheceilingwithathunderouscrash.
Logen reeled, shaking his head. He saw Luthar bent forward, hands clamped
overhisears.Thewholecorridorseemedtohumwithcrashingechoes,onand
on.
“Wait,”saidBayaz,thoughLogencouldbarelyhearhimovertheringingin
his head. “Touch nothing. Go nowhere.” He stepped through the opening,
leavingthekeylodgedinthewall.
Logenpeeredafterhim.Aglimmeroflightshonedownanarrowpassageway,
a rushing sound washed through like the trickling of a stream. Logen felt a
strange curiosity picking at him. He glanced back at the other two. Perhaps
Bayazhadmeantonlyforthemtostay?Heduckedthroughthedoorway.
Andsquintedupatabright,roundchamber.Lightfloodedinfromhighabove,
piercing light, almost painful to look at after the gloom of all the rest. The
curving walls were perfect, clean white stone, running with trickling water,
flowingdownallaroundandcollectinginaroundpoolbelow.Theairwascool,
damp on Logen’s skin. A narrow bridge sprang out from the passage, steps
leadingupwards,endingatatallwhitepillar,risingfromthewater.Bayazwas
standingthere,ontopofit,staringdownatsomething.
LogencreptupbehindtheMagus,breathingshallow.Ablockofwhitestone
stood there. Water dripped onto its smooth, hard centre from above. A regular
tap,tap,tap,alwaysinthesamespot.Twothingslayinthethinlayerofwet.The
firstwasasquarebox,simplymadefromdarkmetal,bigenoughtoholdaman’s
head,maybe.Theotherwasaltogetherstranger.
Aweaponperhaps,likeanaxe.Alongshaft,madefromtinymetaltubes,all
twisted about each other like the stems of old vines. At one end there was a
scoredgrip,attheothertherewasaflatpieceofmetal,piercedwithsmallholes,
a long, thin hook curving out from it. The light played over its many dark
surfaces, glittering with beads of moisture. Strange, beautiful, fascinating. On
thegriponeletterglinted,silverinthedarkmetal.Logenrecogniseditfromhis
sword.ThemarkofKanedias.TheworkoftheMasterMaker.
“Whatisthis?”heasked,reachingoutforit.
“Don’t touch it!” screamed Bayaz, slapping Logen’s hand away. “Did I not
tellyoutowait?”
Logen took an uncertain step back. He had never seen the Magus look so
worried,buthecouldn’tkeephiseyesoffthestrangethingontheslab.“Isita
weapon?”
Bayaz breathed a long, slow breath. “A most terrible one, my friend. A
weaponagainstwhichnosteel,nostone,nomagiccanprotectyou.Donoteven
treadnearit,Iwarnyou.Therearedangers.TheDivider,Kanediascalledit,and
withithekilledhisbrotherJuvens,mymaster.Heoncetoldmeithastwoedges.
Onehere,oneontheOtherSide.”
“Whatthe hell doesthat mean?” mutteredLogen. He couldn’tevensee one
edgeyoucouldcutwith.
Bayaz shrugged. “If I knew that I suppose that I’d be the Master Maker,
insteadofmerelytheFirstoftheMagi.”Hereachedforwardandliftedthebox,
wincingasthoughitwasagreatweight.“Couldyouhelpmewiththis?”
Logenhookedhishands underit, andgasped. Itcouldhardlyhaveweighed
moreifitwasablockofsolidiron.“Heavy,”hegrunted.
“Kanediasforgedittobestrong.Asstrongasallhisgreatskillcouldmakeit.
NottokeepitscontentssafefromtheWorld.”Heleanedcloseandspokesoftly.
“TokeeptheWorldsafefromitscontents.”
Logenfrowneddown.“What’sinit?”
“Nothing,”mutteredBayaz.“Yet.”
Jezalwastryingtothinkofthreemenintheworldhehatedmore.Brint?He
wassimplyaswollen-headedidiot.Gorst?Hehadmerelydonehismeagrebest
tobeatJezalinafencingmatch.Varuz?Hewasjustapompousoldass.
No. These three were at the top of his list. The arrogant old man with his
idioticprattleandhisself-importantairofmystery.Thehulkingsavagewithhis
uglyscarsandhismenacingfrown.Thepatronisingcripplewithhissmuglittle
comments and his pretensions of knowing all about life. The three of them,
combinedwiththestagnantairandperpetualgloomofthishorribleplace,were
almostenoughtomakeJezalpukeagain.Theonlythinghecouldimagineworse
thanhispresentcompanywasnocompanyatall.Helookedintotheshadowsall
around,andshudderedatthethought.
Still, his spirits rose as they turned a corner. There was a small square of
daylight up ahead. He hurried towards it, overtaking Glokta as he shambled
alongonhiscane,mouthwateringwithanticipationatthethoughtofbeingback
outunderthesky.
Jezalclosedhiseyeswithpleasureashesteppedintotheopenair.Thecold
wind stroked his face and he gasped in great lungfulls of it. The relief was
terrific,asthoughhehadbeentrappeddownthereinthedarknessforweeks,as
thoughfingersclampedaroundhisthroathadjustnowbeenreleased.Hewalked
forwardacrossawide,openspace,pavedwithstark,flatstones.Ninefingersand
Bayaz stood side by side up ahead, behind a parapet, waist high, and beyond
them…
TheAgriontcameintoviewbelow.Apatchworkofwhitewalls,greyroofs,
glinting windows, green gardens. They were nowhere near the summit of the
Maker’s House, only on one of the lowest roofs, above the gate, but still
terrifyinglyhigh.JezalrecognisedthecrumblingUniversity,theshiningdomeof
theLord’sRound,thesquatmassoftheHouseofQuestions.Hecouldseethe
SquareofMarshals,abowlofwoodenseatinginamongstthebuildings,perhaps
eventhetinyyellowflashofthefencingcircleinitscentre.Beyondthecitadel,
surroundedbyitswhitewallandtwinklingmoat,thecitywasasprawlinggrey
massunderthedirtygreysky,stretchingallthewaytothesea.
Jezal laughed with disbelief and delight. The Tower of Chains was a step
ladder compared to this. He was so high above the world that all seemed
somehowstill,frozenintime.Hefeltlikeaking.Nomanhadseenthis,notfor
hundredsofyears.Hewashuge,grand,farmoreimportantthanthetinypeople
thatmustliveandworkinthelittlebuildingsdownthere.Heturnedtolookat
Glokta,butthecripplewasnotsmiling.Hewasevenpalerthanever,frowningat
thetoycity,hislefteyetwitchingwithworry.
“Scaredofheights?”laughedJezal.
Gloktaturnedhisashenfacetowardhim.“Therewerenosteps.Weclimbed
nostepstogethere!”Jezal’sgrinbegantofade.“Nosteps,doyouunderstand?
Howcoulditbe?How?Tellmethat!”
Jezalswallowedashethoughtoverthewaytheyhadcome.Thecripplewas
right. No steps, no ramps, they had gone neither up nor down. Yet here they
were, far above the tallest tower of the Agriont. He felt sick, again. The view
nowseemeddizzying,disgusting,obscene.Hebackedunsteadilyawayfromthe
parapet.Hewantedtogohome.
“Ifollowedhimthroughthedarkness,alone,andhereIfacedhim.Kanedias.
TheMasterMaker.Herewefought.Fire,andsteel,andflesh.Herewestood.He
threw Tolomei from the roof before my eyes. I saw it happen, but I could not
stophim.Hisowndaughter.Canyouimagine?Noonecouldhavedeservedthat
less than she. There never was a more innocent spirit.” Logen frowned. He
hardlyknewwhattosaytothis.
“Here we struggled,” muttered Bayaz, his meaty fists clenched tight on the
bareparapet.“Itoreathim,withfireandsteel,andflesh,andheatme.Icast
himdown.Hefellburning,andbrokeuponthebridgebelow.Andsothelastof
the sons of Euz passed from the world, so many of their secrets lost forever.
Theydestroyedeachother,allfourofthem.Whatawaste.”
BayazturnedtolookatLogen.“Butthatwasalongtimeago,eh,myfriend?
Longago.”Hepuffedouthischeeksandhunchedhisshoulders.“Letusleave
thisplace.Itfeelslikeatomb.Itisatomb.Letussealituponcemore,andthe
memorieswithit.Thatisallinthepast.”
“Huh,”saidLogen.“Myfatherusedtosaytheseedsofthepastbearfruitin
thepresent.”
“Sotheydo.” Bayazreachedoutslowly,andhisfingersbrushedagainstthe
cold, dark metal of the box in Logen’s hands. “So they do. Your father was a
wiseman.”
Glokta’slegwasburning,histwistedspinewasariveroffirefromhisarseto
his skull. His mouth was dry as sawdust, his face sweaty and twitching, the
breathhissinginhisnose,buthepressedonthroughthedarkness,awayfromthe
vasthallwithitsblackorbanditsstrangecontraption,ontowardstheopendoor.
Andintothelight.
He stood there with his head tipped back, on the narrow bridge before the
narrow gateway, his hand trembling on the handle of his cane, blinking and
rubbinghiseyes,gaspinginthefreeairandfeelingthecoolbreezeonhisface.
Who would have thought that wind could feel so fine? Maybe it’s just as well
thereweren’tanysteps.Imightneverhavemadeitout.
Lutharwasalreadyhalfwaybackacrossthebridge,hurryingasthoughhehad
a devil a stride behind. Ninefingers was not far away, breathing hard and
mutteringsomethinginNorthernoverandover.“Stillalive,”Gloktathoughtit
might be. His big hands were clenched tight around that square metal box,
tendonsstandingoutasthoughitweighedasmuchasananvil.Therewasmore
tothistripthanjustprovingapoint.Whatisitthattheybroughtoutfromthere?
What weighs so heavily? He glanced back into the darkness, and shivered. He
wasnotsureheevenwantedtoknow.
Bayazstrolledoutofthetunnelandintotheopenair,lookingsmugasever.
“So,Inquisitor,”hesaidbreezily.“HowdidyoufindyourtripintotheHouseof
theMaker?”
A twisted, strange and horrible nightmare. I might even have preferred to
return to the Emperor’s prisons for a few hours. “Something to do of a
morning,”hesnapped.
“I’msogladyoufounditdiverting,”chuckledBayaz,ashepulledtherodof
darkmetaloutfromhisshirt.“Andtellme,doyoustillbelievethatI’maliar?
Orhaveyoursuspicionsfinallybeenlaidtorest?”
Gloktafrownedatthekey.Hefrownedattheoldman.Hefrownedintothe
crushingdarknessoftheMaker’sHouse.Mysuspicionsgrowwitheverypassing
moment.Theyareneverlaidtorest.Theyonlychangeshape.“Honestly?Idon’t
knowwhattobelieve.”
“Good. Knowing your own ignorance is the first step to enlightenment.
Between you and me, though, I’d think of something else to tell the Arch
Lector.” Glokta felt his eyelid flickering. “You’d better start across, eh,
Inquisitor?WhileIlockup?”
Theplungetothecoldwaterbelownolongerseemedtoholdmuchfear.IfI
weretofall,atleastIwoulddieinthelight.Gloktalookedbackonlyonce,ashe
heard the doors of the Maker’s House shut with a soft click, the circles slide
backintoplace.Allas it wasbeforewe arrived. He turned his prickling back,
suckedhisgumsagainstthefamiliarwavesofnausea,andcursedandstruggled
hislimpingwayacrossthebridge.
Lutharwashammeringdesperatelyontheoldgatesatthefarend.“Letusin!”
he was nearly sobbing as Glokta hobbled up, an edge of cracked panic to his
voice.“Letusin!”Thedoorfinallywobbledopentorevealashocked-looking
Warden.Suchashame.IwassurethatCaptainLutharwasabouttoburstinto
tears.TheproudwinneroftheContest,theUnion’sbravestyoungson,thevery
flowerofmanhood,blubbingonhis knees.That sightcould almosthave made
the trip worthwhile. Luthar darted through the open gate and Ninefingers
followedgrimlyafter,cradlingthemetalboxinhisarms.TheWardensquinted
atGloktaashelimpeduptothegate.“Backsosoon?”
Youolddolt.“Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout,sosoon?”
“I’m only halfway through my eggs. You’ve been gone less than half an
hour.”
Glokta barked a joyless laugh. “Half a day, perhaps.” But he frowned as he
peeredpastintothecourtyard.Theshadowswerealmostexactlywheretheyhad
beenwhentheyleft.Earlymorningstill,buthow?
“TheMakeroncetoldmethattimeisallinthemind.”Gloktawincedashe
turnedhishead.Bayazhadcomeupbehindhim,andwastappingthesideofhis
bald skull with a thick finger. “It could be worse, believe me. It’s when you
come out before you went in that you really start to worry.” He smiled, eyes
glintinginthelightthroughthedoorway.Playingthefool?Ortryingtomakea
foolofme?Eitherway,thesegamesgrowtiresome.
“Enoughriddles,”sneeredGlokta.“Whynotjusttellmewhatyou’reafter?”
The First of the Magi, if such he was, grinned still wider. “I like you,
Inquisitor,Ireallydo.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifyouweretheonlyhonestman
leftinthiswholedamncountry.Weshouldhaveatalkatsomepoint,youandI.
AtalkaboutwhatIwant,andaboutwhatyouwant.”Hissmilevanished.“But
nottoday.”
Andhesteppedthroughtheopendoor,leavingGloktabehindintheshadows.
Nobody’sDog
“Why me?” West murmured to himself through gritted teeth, staring across
the bridge towards the South Gate. That nonsense at the docks had taken him
longer than expected, much longer, but then didn’t everything these days? It
sometimesfeltasifhewastheonlymanintheUnionseriouslypreparingfora
war,andhadtoorganisetheentirebusinessonhisown,rightdowntocounting
thenailsthatwouldholdthehorses’shoeson.Hewasalreadylateforhisdaily
meeting with Marshal Burr, and knew there would be a hundred impossible
things for him to get done today. There always were. To become involved in
somepointlesshold-uphereattheverygateoftheAgriontwasallheneeded.
“Whythehellmustitbeme?”Hisheadwasstartingtohurtagain.Thatalltoo
familiarpulsingbehindtheeyes.Eachdayitseemedtocomeonearlier,andend
upworse.
Becauseoftheheatoverthelastfewdays,theguardshadbeenpermittedto
cometodutywithoutfullarmour.Westreckonedthatatleasttwoofthemwere
nowregrettingit.Onewasfoldeduponthegroundnearthegate,handsclasped
between his legs, whimpering noisily. His sergeant stood stooped over next to
him,bloodrunningfromhisnoseandpatteringdarkreddropsonthestonesof
thebridge.Thetwoothersoldiersinthedetailhadtheirspearslowered,blades
pointing towards a scrawny dark-skinned youth. Another southerner stood
nearby, an old man with long grey hair, leaning against the handrail and
watchingthescenewithanexpressionofprofoundresignation.
TheyouthglancedquicklyoverhisshoulderandWestfeltastingofsurprise.
A woman: black hair hacked off short and sticking off her head in a mess of
greasy spikes. One sleeve was torn off round her shoulder and a long, sinewy
brownarmstuckout,endinginafistbunchedtightaroundthegripofacurved
knife. The blade shone, mirror bright and evilly sharp, the one and only thing
about her that looked clean. There was a thin, grey scar all the way down the
rightsideofherface,throughherblackeyebrowandacrossherscowlinglips.It
was her eyes, though, which truly caught West off guard: slightly slanted,
narrowedwiththedeepesthostilityandsuspicion,andyellow.He hadseen all
kindsofKanticsinhistime,whilehewasfightinginGurkhul,inthewar,buthe
neversaweyeslikethatbefore.Deep,rich,goldenyellow,like…
Piss. That was the smell, as he came closer. Piss, and dirt, and a lot of old,
soursweat.Herememberedthatfromthewaralright,thestinkofmenwhohad
notwashedinaverylongtime.Westfoughtthecompulsiontowrinkleuphis
noseandbreathethroughhismouthasheapproached,andtheurgetocircleout
wideandkeephisdistancefromthatglitteringblade.Youhavetoshownofear
ifyou’retocalmadangeroussituation,howevermuchyoumightbefeeling.In
hisexperience,ifyoucouldseemtobeincontrol,youweremorethanhalfway
tobeingthere.
“Whatthehellisgoingonhere?”hegrowledatthebloody-facedsergeant.He
had no need at all to feign annoyance, he was getting later and angrier by the
second.
“ThesestinkingbeggarswantedtocomeintotheAgriont,sir!Itriedtoturn
themaway,ofcourse,buttheyhaveletters!”
“Letters?”
ThestrangeoldmantappedWestontheshoulder,handedoverafoldedsheet
ofpaper,slightlygrubbyroundtheedges.Hereadit,hisfrowngrowingsteadily
deeper. “This is a letter of transit signed by Lord Hoff himself. They must be
admitted.”
“Butnotarmed,sir!Isaidtheycouldn’tgoinarmed!”Thesergeantheldup
an odd looking bow of dark wood in one hand, and a curved sword of the
Gurkishdesignintheother.“Itwasenoughofastrugglegettinghertogivethese
up, but when I tried to search her… this Gurkish bitch…” The woman hissed
and took a quick step forward, and the sergeant and his two guards shuffled
nervouslybackinatightgroup.
“Peace, Ferro,” sighed the old man in the Kantic tongue. “For God’s sake,
peace.”Thewomanspatonthestonesofthebridgeandhissedsomecursethat
West could not understand, weaving the blade back and forth in a way that
suggestedsheknewhowtouseit,andwasmorethanwilling.
“Why me?” West mumbled under his breath. It was plain he was going
nowhereuntilthisdifficultywasresolved.Asifhedidn’thaveenoughtoworry
about.Hetookadeepbreathanddidhisbesttoputhimselfinthepositionofthe
stinking woman: a stranger, surrounded by strange-looking people speaking
words she didn’t understand, brandishing spears and trying to search her.
Probably she was even now thinking about how horrible West smelled.
Disorientatedandafraid,mostlikely,rather thandangerous. Shedid lookvery
dangerousthough,andnotintheleastafraid.
Theoldmancertainlyseemedthemorereasonableofthetwo,soWestturned
tohimfirst.“AreyoutwofromGurkhul?”heaskedhiminbrokenKantic.
TheoldmanturnedhistiredeyesonWest.“No.ThereismoretotheSouth
thantheGurkish.”
“Kadirthen?Taurish?”
“YouknowtheSouth?”
“Alittle.Ifoughtthere,inthewar.”
Theoldmanjerkedhisheadatthewoman,watchingthemsuspiciouslywith
herslantedyelloweyes.“SheisfromaplacecalledMuntaz.”
“Ineverheardofit.”
“Whywouldyouhave?”Theoldmanshruggedhisbonyshoulders.“Asmall
country,bythesea,fartotheeastofShaffa,beyondthemountains.TheGurkish
conqueredityearsago,anditspeoplewerescatteredormadeslaves.Apparently
she has been in a foul mood ever since.” The woman scowled over at them,
keepingoneeyeonthesoldiers.
“Andyou?”
“Oh,Icomefrommuchfurthersouth,beyondKanta,beyondthedesert,even
beyondtheCircleoftheWorld.Thelandofmybirthwillnotbeonyourmaps,
friend.Yulweiismyname.”Heheldoutalong,blackhand.
“CollemWest.”Thewomanwatchedthemwarilyastheyshookhands.
“ThisoneiscalledWest,Ferro!HefoughtagainsttheGurkish!Willthatmake
you trust him?” Yulwei didn’t sound very hopeful, and indeed the woman’s
shoulderswerestillashunchedandbristlingasever,hergripontheknifenoless
tight.Oneofthesoldierschosethatunfortunatemomenttotakeastepforward,
jabbingattheairwithhisspear,andthewomansnarledandspatagain,shouting
moreunintelligiblecurses.
“That’senough!”Westheardhimselfroaringattheguard.“Putyourfucking
spearsup!”Theyblinkedathim,shocked,andhefoughttobringhisvoiceback
undercontrol.“Idon’tthinkthisisafull-scaleinvasion,doyou?Putthemup!”
Reluctantly the spearpoints drifted away from the woman. West stepped
firmlytowardsher,keepinghiseyesfixedonherswithalltheauthorityhecould
muster.Shownofear,hethoughttohimself,buthisheartwasthumping.Heheld
outhisopenpalm,almostcloseenoughtotouchher.
“The knife,” said West sharply in his bad Kantic. “Please. You will not be
harmed,youhavemyword.”
Thewomanstaredathimwiththoseslanted,beadyyelloweyes,thenatthe
guardswiththespears,thenbacktohim.Shetookplentyoftimeoverit.West
stood there, mouth dry, head still thumping, getting later and later, sweating
under his uniform in the hot sun, trying to ignore the woman’s smell. Time
passed.
“God’steeth,Ferro!”snappedtheoldmansuddenly.“Iamold!Takepityon
me!Imayonlyhaveafewyearsleft!Givethemantheknife,beforeIdie!”
“Ssssss,” she hissed, curling her lip. For a dizzy, stretched-out moment the
knifewentup,thenthehiltslappeddownintoWest’spalm.Heallowedhimself
adryswallowofrelief.Rightupuntilthelastmomenthehadbeenalmostsure
shewouldgivehimthesharpend.
“Thankyou,”hesaid,adealmorecalmlythanhefelt.Hehandedtheknifeto
the sergeant. “Stow the weapons away and escort our guests into the Agriont,
andifanyharmcomestoanyone,especiallyher,I’llbeholdingyouresponsible,
understand?”Hegloweredatthesergeantforamomentthensteppedthroughthe
gate into the tunnel before anything else could go wrong, leaving the old man
andthe stinking womanbehind him. Hisheadwas thumpinghardereven than
before.Damnithewaslate.
“Whythehellme?”hegrumbledtohimself.
“I am afraid the armouries are closed for the day,” sneered Major Vallimir,
staringdownhisnoseatWestasthoughatabeggarwhiningforsmallchange.
“Our quotas are fulfilled, ahead of schedule, and we will not be lighting the
forgesagainthisweek.Perhapsifyouhadarrivedontime…”Thepoundingin
West’sheadwasgrowingworsethanever.Heforcedhimselftobreatheslowly,
andkeephisvoicecalmandeven.Therewasnothingtobegainedbylosinghis
temper.Therewasneveranythingtobegainedbythat.
“Iunderstand,Major,”saidWestpatiently,“butthereisawaron.Manyofthe
levieswehave received are scarcely armed, andLordMarshalBurrhas asked
thattheforgesbelit,inordertoprovideequipmentforthem.”
Thiswasnotentirelytrue,butsincejoiningtheMarshal’sstaffWesthadmore
or less given up on telling the whole truth to anyone. That was no way to get
anythingdone.Henowemployedamixtureofwheedling,bluster,andoutright
lies, humble entreaties and veiled threats, and had become quite expert at
judgingwhichtacticwouldbemosteffectiveonwhatman.
Unfortunately, he had yet to strike the right chord with Major Vallimir, the
Master of the King’s Armouries. Somehow, their being equal in rank made
mattersallthemoredifficult:hecouldnotquitegetawaywithbullyingtheman,
butcouldnotquitebringhimselftobeg.
Furthermore, in terms of social standing they were anything but equals.
Vallimir was old nobility, from a powerful family, and arrogant beyond belief.
He made Jezal dan Luthar seem a humble, selfless type, and his total lack of
experienceinthefieldonlymademattersworse:hebehaveddoublylikeanass
inordertocompensate.Instructions from West,thoughtheymightcome from
MarshalBurrhimself,wereaswelcomeastheywouldhavebeenfromareeking
swineherd.
Today was no exception. “This month’s quotas are fulfilled, Major West,”
Vallimirmanagedtoputasneeringemphasisintothename,“andsotheforges
areclosed.Thatisall.”
“AndthisiswhatyouwouldhavemetelltheLordMarshal?”
“Thearmingofleviesistheresponsibilityofthoselordsthatprovidethem,”
herecitedprimly.“Icannotbeblamediftheyfallshortontheirobligations.Itis
simplynotourproblem,MajorWest,andyoumaytellthattotheLordMarshal.”
This was always the way of it. Back and forth: from Burr’s offices to the
various commissary departments, to the commanders of companies, of
battalions,ofregiments,tothestoresscatteredaroundtheAgriontandthecity,
tothe armouries,thebarracks, thestables,to thedockswhere the soldiersand
their equipment would begin to embark in just a few short days, to other
departmentsandbacktowherehebegan,withmileswalkedandnothingdone.
Eachnighthewoulddropintobedlikeastone,onlytostartupafewhourslater
withitalltodoagain.
Ascommanderofabattalionhistradehadbeentofighttheenemywithsteel.
Asastaffofficer,itseemed,hisrolewastofighthisownsidewithpaper,more
secretarythansoldier.Hefeltlikeamantryingtopushahugestoneupahill.
Strainingandstraining,gettingnowhere,butunabletostoppushingincasethe
rockshouldfallandcrushhim.Meanwhile,arrogantbastardswhowereinjust
thesamedangerlazedontheslopesbesidehimsaying,“Well,it’snotmyrock.”
Heunderstoodnowwhy,duringthewarinGurkhul,therehadsometimesnot
beenenoughfoodforthementoeat,orclothesforthemtowear,orwagonsto
draw the supplies with, or horses to draw the wagons, or all manner of other
thingsthatweredeeplynecessaryandeasilyanticipated.
West would be damned before that happened because of some oversight of
his.Andhewouldcertainlybedamnedifhewouldseemendie forwant ofa
weapontofightwith.Hetriedyetagaintocalmhimself,buteachtimehishead
hurt more, and his voice was cracking with the effort. “And what if we find
ourselvesmiredinAnglandwithacrowdofhalf-clothed,unarmedpeasantsto
providefor,whatthen,MajorVallimir?Whoseproblemwillitbe?Notyours,I
daresay!You’llstillbehere,withyourcoldforgesforcompany!”
Westknewassoonashesaiditthathehadgonetoofar:themanpositively
bristled. “How dare you, sir! Are you questioning my personal honour? My
familygoesbackninegenerationsintheKing’sOwn!”
Westrubbedhiseyes,notknowingwhetherhewantedtolaughorcry.“Ihave
nodoubtsastoyourcourage,Iassureyou,thatwasnotmymeaningatall.”He
triedtoputhimselfinVallimir’sposition.Hedidnotreallyknowthepressures
the man was under: probably he would rather be in command of soldiers than
smiths,probably…itwasnouse.Themanwasashit,andWesthatedhim.“This
isnotaquestionofyourhonour,Major,orthatofyourfamily.Thisisaquestion
ofourbeingfitforwar!”
Vallimir’seyeshadturneddeadlycold.“Justwhodoyouthinkyou’retalking
to,youdirtycommoner?AlltheinfluenceyouhaveyouowetoBurr,andwhois
he but an oaf from the provinces, risen to his rank by fortune alone?” West
blinked.Heguessedwhattheysaidabouthimbehindhisbackofcourse,butit
was another thing to hear it to his face. “And when Burr is gone, what will
becomeofyou?Eh?Wherewillyoubewithouthimtohidebehind?You’veno
blood,nofamily!”Vallimir’slipstwistedinacoldsneer.“Apartfromthatsister
ofyoursofcourse,andfromwhatIhear—”
West found himself moving forward, fast. “What?” he snarled. “What was
that?” His expression must have been dire indeed: he saw the colour draining
fromVallimir’sface.
“I…I—”
“YouthinkIneedBurrtofightmybattles,youfuckinggutlessworm?”Before
heknew it hehad moved again,and Vallimirstumbledback towardsthewall,
flinchingsidewaysandraisingonearmasiftowardoffanexpectedblow.Itwas
themostWestcoulddotostophishandsfromgrabbingholdofthelittlebastard
and shaking him until his head came off. His own skull was throbbing,
pounding. He felt as though the pressure would pop his eyes right out of his
head.Hedraggedinlong,slowbreathsthroughhisnose,clenchedhisfistsuntil
theyhurt.Theangerslowlysubsided,backbelowthepointwhereitthreatened
totakesuddencontrolofhisbody.Itonlypulsednow,squeezingathischest.
“If you have something to say on the subject of my sister,” he whispered
softly,“thenyoucansayit.Sayitnow.”Helethislefthanddropslowlytositon
thehiltofhissword.“Andwecansettlethisoutsidethecitywalls.”
Major Vallimir shrank back still further. “I heard nothing,” he whispered,
“nothingatall.”
“Nothingatall.”Westlookeddownintohiswhitefaceforamomentlonger,
thenstepped away. “Now ifyouwouldbe so good astoreopen the forgesfor
me?Wehaveagreatdealofworktogetthrough.”
Vallimirblinkedforamoment.“Ofcourse.Iwillhavethemlitatonce.”
West turned on his heel and stalked off, knowing the man was glowering
daggersathisback,knowingthathehadmadeyetanotherbadsituationworse.
Onemorehigh-bornenemyamongthemany.Thereallygallingthingwasthat
themanwasright.WithoutBurr,hewasasgoodasfinished.Hehadnofamily
apart from that sister of his. Damn it, his head hurt. “Why me?” he hissed to
himself.“Why?”
Therewasstillalottodotoday,enoughforawholeday’sworkonitsown,
butWestcouldtakenomore.Hisheadhurtsobadlythathecouldhardlysee.He
hadtoliedowninthedark,withawetclothoverhisface,ifonlyforanhour,if
onlyforaminute.Hefumbledinhispocketforhiskey,hisotherhandclamped
over his aching eyes, his teeth locked together. Then he heard a sound on the
othersideofthedoor.Afaintclinkofglass.Ardee.
“No,”he hissed to himself.Notnow! Why thehellhadhe ever givenhera
key?Cursingsoftly,heraisedhisfisttoknock.Knockingonhisowndoor,that
waswherehewasnow.Hisfistnevermadeittothewood.Amostunpleasant
image began to form in the back of his mind. Ardee and Luthar, naked and
sweaty,writhingaroundonhiscarpet.Heturnedhiskeyswiftlyinthelockand
shovedthedooropen.
She was standing by the window, alone and, he was relieved to see, fully
dressed.Hewaslesspleasedtoseeherfillingaglassrighttothebrimfromthe
decanterthough.Sheraisedaneyebrowathimasheburstthroughthedoor.
“Oh,it’syou.”
“Whothehellelsewoulditbe?”snappedWest.“Thesearemyrooms,aren’t
they?”
“Somebody’snotinthebestofmoodsthismorning.”Abitofwineslopped
overtherimofherglassandontothetable.Shewipeditupwithherhandand
suckedherfingers,thentookalongswigfromtheglassforgoodmeasure.Her
everymovementniggledathim.
Westgrimacedandshovedthedoorshut.“Doyouhavetodrinksomuch?”
“Iunderstandthatayoungladyshouldhaveabeneficialpastime.”Herwords
werecareless,asusual,buteventhroughhisheadacheWestcouldtelltherewas
somethingstrangegoingon.Shekeptglancingtowardsthedesk,thenshewas
movingtowardsit.Hegottherefirst,snatchedupapieceofpaperfromthetop,
onelinewrittenonit.
“What’sthis?”
“Nothing!Giveitme!”
Heheldherawaywithonearmandreadit:
Theusualplace,tomorrownight
—A.
West’s skin prickled with horror. “Nothing? Nothing?” He shook the letter
underhissister’s nose. Ardeeturnedawayfrom him, flicking herheadasyou
mightatafly,sayingnothing,butslurpingnoisilyfromherglass.Westground
histeeth.
“It’sLuthar,isn’tit?”
“Ididn’tsayso.”
“You didn’t have to.” The paper crumpled up into a tiny ball in his white-
knuckled hand. He half turned towards the door, every muscle tensed and
trembling.Itwasthemosthecoulddotostophimselfdashingoutandthrottling
the little bastard right now, but he was just able to make himself think for a
moment.
Jezalhadlethimdown,andbadly,thatungratefulshit.Butitwashardlythat
shocking—themanwasanass.Youkeepyourwineinapaperbagyoushouldn’t
betooupsetwhenitleaks.Besides,Jezalwasn’ttheonewritingtheletters.What
good would stepping on his neck do? There would always be more empty-
headedyoungmenintheworld.
“Justwhereareyougoingwiththis,Ardee?”
Shesatdownonthesettleandglaredathimfrostilyovertherimofherglass.
“Withwhat,brother?”
“Youknowwithwhat!”
“Aren’t we family? Can’t we be candid with each other? If you have
somethingtosayyoucanoutandsayit!WheredoyouthinkI’mgoing?”
“Ithinkyou’regoingstraighttoshit,sinceyouask!”Hesqueezedhisvoice
backdownwiththegreatestofdifficulty.“ThisbusinesswithLutharhasgone
waytoofar.Letters?Letters?Iwarnedhim,butitseemshewasn’ttheproblem!
Whatareyouthinking?Areyouthinkingatall?Ithastostop,beforepeoplestart
totalk!”Hefeltasuffocatingtightnessinhischest,tookadeepbreath,buthis
voiceburstoutanyway.“They’redamn welltalkingalready!Itstopsnow!Do
youhearme?”
“Ihearyou,”shesaidcarelessly,“butwhocareswhattheythink?”
“Icare!”Henearlyscreamedit.“DoyouknowhowhardIhavetowork?Do
you think I’m a fool? You know what you’re about, Ardee!” Her face was
turningsullen,butheforgedon.“It’snotasthoughthisisthefirsttime!MustI
remindyou,yourluckwithmenhasnotexactlybeenthebest!”
“Notwiththemeninmyfamily,atleast!”Shewassittingboltuprightnow,
face tight and pale with anger. “And what would you know about my luck?
We’vehardlytalkedintenyears!”
“We’retalkingnow!”shoutedWest,flingingthecrumpledbitofpaperacross
theroom.“Haveyouthoughthowthismightturnout?Whatifyouweretoget
him?Haveyouconsideredthat?Wouldhisfamilybecharmedbytheblushing
bride,doyouthink?Atbestthey’dneverspeaktoyou.Atworstthey’dcutyou
bothoff!”Hepointedashakingfingeratthedoor.“Haven’tyounoticedhe’sa
vain,arrogantswine!Theyallare!Howwouldhemanage,doyouthink,without
hisallowance?Withouthisfriendsinhighplaces?Hewouldn’tknowwhereto
begin!Howcouldyoubehappywitheachother?”Hisheadwasreadytosplitin
half,butherantedon.Andwhathappensif,asisfarmorelikely,youcan’tget
him? What then? You’d be finished, have you thought on that? You’ve come
closeenoughbefore!Andyou’resupposedtobethecleverone!You’remaking
alaughing-stockofyourself!”Healmostchokedonhisrage.“Ofbothofus!”
Ardee gave a gasp. “Now we see it!” she nearly screamed at him. “No one
caresashitforme,butifyourreputationisindanger—”
“You fucking stupid bitch!” The decanter flew spinning across the room. It
crashedagainstthewallnotfarfromArdee’shead,sendingfragmentsofglass
flyingandwinerunningdowntheplaster.Itmadehimmorefurious.“Whydon’t
youfuckinglisten?”
He was across the room in an instant. Ardee looked surprised, just for a
moment,thentherewasasharpclick—hisfistcatchingherinthefaceasshegot
up.Shedidn’tfallfar.Hishandscaughtherbeforeshehittheground,yanked
herupthenflungherbackagainstthewall.
“You’llbetheendofus!”Herheadsmackedagainsttheplaster—once,twice,
threetimes.Onehandgrabbedholdofherneck.
Teethbared.Bodycrushedheragainstthewall.Alittlesnortinherthroatas
thefingersbegantosqueeze.
“Youselfish,useless…fucking…whore!”
Hairwastangledacrossherface.Hecouldonlyseeanarrowsliceofskin,the
cornerofamouth,onedarkeye.
Theeyestaredbackathim.Painless.Fearless.Empty,flat,likeacorpse.
Squeeze.Snort.Squeeze.
Squeeze…
Westcametohissenseswithasickeningjolt.Thefingerssnappedopen,he
jerkedthehandaway.Hissisterstayeduprightagainstthewall.Hecouldhear
herbreathing.Shortgasps.Orwasthathim?Hisheadwassplitting.Theeyewas
stillstaringathim.
Hemusthaveimaginedit.Musthave.Anysecondnowhewouldwakeup,the
nightmarewouldbeover.Adream.Thenshepushedthehairoutofherface.
Her skin was candle wax, pasty white. The trickle of blood from her nose
lookedalmostblackagainstit.Thepinkmarksstoodoutvividonherneck.The
marksthefingersmade.Hisfingers.Real,then.
West’sstomachchurned.Hismouthopenedbutnosoundcameout.Helooked
atthebloodonherlip,andhewantedtobesick.“Ardee…”Hewassodisgusted
hehalfvomitedashesaidtheword.He couldtaste thebileatthebackofhis
mouth,buthisvoicewouldn’tstopgurglingaway.“I’msorry…I’msosorry…
Areyoualright?”
“I’vehadworse.”Shereachedupslowlyandtouchedherlipwithafinger-tip.
Thebloodsmearedoutacrosshermouth.
“Ardee…”Onehandreachedouttoher,thenhejerkeditback,afraidofwhat
itmightdo.“I’msorry…”
“Hewasalwayssorry.Don’tyouremember?He’dholdusandcryafterwards.
Alwayssorry.Butitneverstoppedhimthenexttime.Haveyouforgotten?”
West gagged, choked back vomit again. If she’d wept, and ranted, and beat
himwithherfists,itwouldhavebeeneasiertobear.Anythingbutthis.Hetried
never to think about it, but he hadn’t forgotten. “No,” he whispered, “I
remember.”
“Didyouthinkhestoppedwhenyouleft?Hegotworse.OnlythenI’dhideon
myown.Iusedtodream that you’d come back, come back and save me.But
whenyoudidcomebackitwasn’tforlong,andthingsweren’tthesamebetween
us,andyoudidnothing.”
“Ardee…Ididn’tknow—”
“You knew, but you got away. It was easier to do nothing. To pretend. I
understand, and do you know, I don’t even blame you. It was some kind of
comfort,backthen,toknowyougotaway.Thedayhediedwasthehappiestof
mylife.”
“Hewasourfather—”
“Ohyes.Mybadluck.Badluckwithmen.Icriedatthegravelikeadutiful
daughter.Criedandcrieduntilthemournersfearedformyreason.ThenIlayin
bedawake,untileveryonewassleeping.Icreptoutofthehouse,Iwentbackto
thegrave,Istoodawhilelookingdown…thenIfuckingpissedonit!Ipulledup
my shift, and I squatted down, and I pissed on him! And all the while I was
thinking—I’llbenobody’sdoganymore!”
Shewipedthebloodfromhernoseonthebackofherhand.“Youshouldhave
seenhowhappyIwaswhenyousentforme!Ireadtheletteroverandover.The
patheticlittledreamsallcamealiveagain.Hope,eh?Whatafuckingcurse!Off
tolivewithmybrother.Myprotector.He’lllookoutforme,he’llhelpme.Now
maybeIcanhavealife!ButIfindyoudifferentthanIremembered.Allgrown
up.Firstyouignoreme,thenyoulectureme,thenyouhitme,andnowyou’re
sorry.Trulyyourfather’sson!”
Hegroaned.Itwasasifshewasstickinganeedleinhim,rightinhisskull.
Less than he deserved. She was right. He had failed her. Long before today.
While he had been playing with swords and kissing the arses of people who
despisedhim,shehadbeensuffering.Alittleeffortwasallitwouldhavetaken,
buthecouldneverfaceit.Everyminutehehadspentwithherhefelttheguilt,
likearockinhisgut,weighinghimdown,unbearable.
Shesteppedawayfromthewall.“PerhapsI’llgoandpayacallonJezal.He
maybetheshallowestidiotinthewholecity,butIdon’tthinkhe’deverraisea
handtome,doyou?”Shepushedhimoutofthewayandmadeforthedoor.
“Ardee!”hecaughtholdofherarm.“Please…Ardee…I’msorry…”
Shestuckhertongueout,curleditintoatube,andblewbloodyspitthroughit.
It splattered softly down the front of his uniform. “That’s for your sorry,
bastard.”
Thedoorbangedshutinhisface.
EachManWorshipsHimself
Ferrostaredatthebigpinkthroughnarrowedeyes,andhestaredback.Ithad
been going on for a good while now, not all the time, but most of it. Staring.
Theywereallugly,thesesoftwhitethings,butthisonewassomethingspecial.
Hideous.
Sheknewthatshewasscarred,andweatheredbysunandwind,worndown
by years in the wilderness, but the pale skin on this one’s face looked like a
shieldhard used inbattle—chopped,gouged, torn, dented.Itwas surprising to
see the eyes still alive in a face so battered, but they were, and they were
watchingher.
Shehaddecidedhewasdangerous.
Notjustbig,butstrong.Brutalstrong.Twiceherweightmaybe,andhisthick
neck was all sinew. She could feel the strength coming off him. She wouldn’t
havebeensurprisedifhecouldliftherwithonehand,butthatdidn’tworryher
toomuch.He’dhavetogetaholdonherfirst.Bigandstrongcanmakeaman
slow.
Slowanddangerousdon’tmix.
Scarsdidn’tworryhereither.Theyjustmeanthe’dbeeninalotoffights,they
didn’tsaywhetherhe’dwon.Itwasotherthings.Thewayhesat—stillbutnot
quiterelaxed.Ready.Patient.Thewayhiseyesmoved—cunning,careful,from
her to the rest of the room, then back to her. Dark eyes, watching, thoughtful.
Weighingherup.Thickveinsonthebacksofhishands,butlongfingers,clever
fingers, lines of dirt under the nails. One finger missing. A white stump. She
didn’tlikeanyofit.Smelledlikedanger.
Shewouldn’twanttofightthisoneunarmed.
Butshe’dgivenherknifeovertothatpinkonthebridge.She’dbeenonthe
very point of stabbing him, but at the last moment she’d changed her mind.
Somethingin his eyes had remindedherofAruf, before the Gurkish stuckhis
headonaspear.Sadandlevel,asifheunderstoodher.Asifshewasaperson,
andnotathing.Atthelastmoment,despiteherself,she’dgiventhebladeaway.
Allowedherselftobeledinhere.
Stupid!
Sheregretteditnow,bitterly,butshe’dfightanywayshecould,ifshehadto.
Mostpeopleneverrealisehowfulltheworldisofweapons.Thingstothrow,or
throw enemies on to. Things to break, or use as clubs. Wound-up cloths to
strangle with. Dirt to fling in faces. Failing that, she’d bite his throat out. She
curledherlipsbackandshowedhimherteethtoproveit,butheseemednotto
notice.Justsatthere,watching.Silent,still,ugly,anddangerous.
“Fuckingpinks,”shehissedtoherself.
The thin one, by contrast, hardly seemed dangerous at all. Ill-looking, with
longhairlikeawoman’s.Awkwardandtwitchy,lickinghislips.Hewouldsneak
the odd glance at her, but look away as soon as she scowled over at him,
swallowing,theknobblylumpinhisnecksquirmingupanddown.Heseemed
scared,nothreat,butFerrokepthiminthecornerofhereyewhileshewatched
thebigone.Bestnottodismisshimentirely.
Lifehadtaughthertoexpectsurprises.
Thatjustlefttheoldman.Shedidn’ttrustaoneofthesepinks,butshetrusted
thisbaldoneleastofall.Manydeeplinesonhisface,roundhiseyes,roundhis
nose.Cruellines.Hard,heavybonesinhischeeks.Bigthickhands,whitehairs
onthebacksofthem.Ifshehadtokillthesethree,forallthedangerthatthebig
oneseemedtooffer,shedecidedshewouldkillthisbaldonefirst.Hehadthe
look of a slaver in his eye, staring at her up and down, all over. A cold look,
judgingwhatshemightbeworth.
Bastard.
Bayaz,Yulwei calledhim,and thetwoold menseemedto knoweachother
well.“So,brother,”thebaldpinkwassayingintheKantictongue,thoughitwas
plainenoughtheyweren’trelated,“howisitinthegreatEmpireofGurkhul?”
Yulwei sighed. “Only a year since he seized the crown, and Uthman has
brokenthelastoftherebels,andbroughtthegovernorsfirmlytoheel.Already,
theyoungEmperorismore feared than ever his father was. Uthman-ul-Dosht,
hissoldierscallhim,andproudly.AlmostallofKantaisinhisgrip.Hereigns
supremeallroundtheSouthernSea.”
“AsidefromDagoska.”
“True,buthiseyesarebentonit.Hisarmiesswarmtowardthepeninsula,and
hisagentsareeverbusybehindDagoska’sgreatwalls.Nowthatthereiswarin
theNorth, it cannotbelong before hefeelsthe timeisripe to laysiegeto the
city,andwhenhedoes,Idonotthinkitcanstandlongagainsthim.”
“Areyousure?TheUnionstillcontrolstheseas.”
Yulweifrowned.“Wesawships,brother.Manygreatships.TheGurkishhave
builtafleet.Apowerfulone,insecret.Theymusthavebegunyearsago,during
thelastwar.IfeartheUnionwillcontroltheseasbutlittlelonger.”
“Afleet?Ihadhopedtohaveafewmoreyearsinwhichtoprepare.”Thebald
pinksoundedgrim.“Myplansonlybecomethemoreurgent.”
She was bored with their talk. She was used to being always on the move,
keepingalwaysonestrideahead,andshehatedto stand still. Stay too long in
one place, and the Gurkish would find you. She wasn’t interested in being an
exhibit for these curious pinks to stare at. She sauntered off around the room
whilethetwooldmenmadeendlesswords,scowlingandsuckingherteeth.She
swungherarmsaround.Shekickedatthewornboardsofthefloor.Shepokedat
theclothsonthewalls,andpeeredbehindthem,ranherfingersalongtheedges
ofthefurniture,clickedhertongueandsnappedherteethtogether.
Makingeveryonenervous.
She passed by the big ugly pink in the chair, almost close enough for her
swinginghandtotouchhispittedskin.Justtoshowhimthatshedidn’tcarea
shit for his size, or his scars, or anything else. Then she strutted over to the
nervous one. The skinny pink with the long hair. He swallowed as she came
close.
“Sssss,”shehissedathim.Hemutteredsomethingandshuffledaway,andshe
steppeduptotheopenwindowinhisplace.Lookingout,turningherbackonthe
room.
Justtoshowthepinksshedidn’tcareashitforanyofthem.
Thereweregardensoutside thewindow. Trees,plants,widesweepsof lawn
neatlyarranged.Groupsoffat,palemenandwomenlazedaroundinthesunon
the carefully cut grass, stuffing their sweaty faces with food. Swilling down
drink.Shescowleddownatthem.Fat,ugly,lazypinks,withnoGodbuteating
andidleness.
“Gardens,”shesneered.
Therehadbeen gardens in Uthman’s palace. She used tolookatthem from
the tiny window of her room. Her cell. Long before he became Uthman-ul-
Dosht.WhenhehadonlybeentheEmperor’syoungestson.Whenshehadbeen
oneamonghismanyslaves.Hisprisoner.Ferroleanedforwardandspatoutof
thewindow.
Shehatedgardens.
She hated cities altogether. Places of slavery, fear, degradation. Their walls
werethewallsofaprison.Thesoonershewasgonefromthisaccursedplacethe
happiershewouldbe.Orthe lessunhappy,atleast.Sheturnedawayfromthe
window,andscowledagain.Theywereallstaringather.
The one called Bayaz was the first to speak. “It certainly is quite a striking
thingyou’vediscovered,brother.Youwouldn’tmissherinacrowd,eh?Areyou
sureshe’swhatI’mlookingfor?”
Yulweilookedatherforaminute.“AssureasIcanbe.”
“I’m standing right here,” she growled at them, but the bald pink went on
talkingasthoughshecouldn’thear.
“Doesshefeelpain?”
“Butlittle.ShefoughtanEaterontheroad.”
“Really?”Bayazchuckledsoftlytohimself.“Howbadlydidithurther?”
“Badly, but in two days she was walking, in a week she was healed. She
showsnotascratchfromit.Thatisnotnormal.”
“Wehavebothseenmanythingsthatarenotnormalinourtimes.Wemustbe
sure.” The bald man reached into a pocket. Ferro watched suspiciously as he
pulled out his fist, placed it on the table. When he took it away two smooth,
polishedstoneslayonthewood.
Thebaldmanleanedforward.“Tellme,Ferro,whichisthebluestone?”
She stared at him, hard, then down at the stones. There was no difference
betweenthem.Theywereallwatchingher,closerthanevernow,andsheground
herteeth.
“Thatone.”Shepointedtotheoneontheleft.
Bayaz smiled. “Exactly the answer I was hoping for.” Ferro shrugged her
shoulders.Lucky,shethought,toguesstherightone.Thenshenoticedthelook
onthebigpink’sface.Hewasfrowningatthetwostones,asthoughhedidn’t
understand.
“Theybotharered,”saidBayaz.“Youseenocoloursatall,eh,Ferro?”
Sothebaldpinkhadplayedatrickonher.Shewasn’tsurehowhecouldhave
known,butshewassureshedidn’tlikeit.NooneplaystricksonFerroMaljinn.
Shestartedtolaugh.Arough,ugly,unpractisedgurgling.
Thenshesprangacrossthetable.
The look of surprise was just forming on the old pink’s face as her fist
crunchedintohisnose.Hegaveagrunt,chairtippingbackwards,sprawlingout
ontothefloor.Shescrambledacrossthetabletogetathim,butYulweigrabbed
hold of her leg and dragged her back. Her clawing hands missed the bald
bastard’s neck and hauled the table over on its side instead, the two stones
skitteringawayacrosstheboards.
Sheshookherlegfreeandwentfortheoldpinkashestaggeredupfromthe
floor,butYulweicaughtherarmandpulledherbackagain,allthewhileyelling,
“Peace!”Hegotherelbowinhisfaceforhistrouble,andsaggedbackagainst
thewallwithherontopofhim.Shewasfirstup,readytogoatthebaldbastard
again.
By now the big one was on his feet though, and moving forward, still
watching her. Ferro smiled at him, fists clenched at her sides. Now she would
seehowdangeroushereallywas.
Hetookanotherstep.
ThenBayazputanarmouttostophim.Hehadhisotherhandclaspedtohis
nose,tryingtostaunchtheflowofblood.Hestartedtochuckle.
“Verygood!”Hecoughed.“Veryfierce,anddamnquicktoo.Withoutadoubt,
you’rewhatwe’reafter!Ihopeyouwillacceptmyapologies,Ferro.”
“What?”
“Formyawfulmanners.”Hewipedbloodfromhisupperlip.“Ideservedno
less, but I had to be sure. I am sorry. Am I forgiven?” He looked somehow
differentnow,thoughnothinghadchanged.Friendly,considerate,honest.Sorry.
Butittookmorethanthattowinhertrust.Alotmore.
“We’llsee,”shehissed.
“That’s allIask.That, and thatyougive Yulwei andIamoment to discuss
some…matters.Mattersbestdiscussedinprivate.”
“It’salright,Ferro,”saidYulwei,“theyarefriends.”Shewasdamnsurethey
weren’therfriends,butsheallowedhimtoshepherdheroutofthedoorbehind
thetwopinks.“Justtrynottokillanyofthem.”
Thisroomwasmuchliketheother.Theyhadtoberich,thesepinks,forall
theydidn’tlookit.Greatbigfireplace,madeofdarkveinedstone.Cushions,and
softclothroundthewindow,coveredinflowersandbirdsintinystitches.There
wasapaintingofasternmanwithacrownonhishead,frowningdownatFerro
fromthewall.Shefrownedbackathim.Luxury.
Ferrohatedluxuryevenmorethanshehatedgardens.
Luxury meant captivity more surely than the bars of a cage. Soft furniture
spelleddangermoresurelythanweapons.Hardgroundand coldwaterwas all
sheneeded.Softthingsmakeyousoft,andshewantednopartofthat.
There was another man waiting in there, walking round and round with his
handsbehindhisback,asthoughhedidn’tliketostandstilltoolong.Notquitea
pink, his leathery skin was somewhere between hers and theirs in tone. Head
shaved,likeapriest.Ferrodidn’tlikethat.
Shehatedpriestsmostofall.
Hiseyes lit upwhenhesaw her though,forall her sneeringathim, and he
hurriedover.Astrangelittlemanintravel-wornclothes,thetopofhisheadcame
upno higherthan Ferro’s mouth.“I amBrother Longfoot,”flapping hishands
aroundallovertheplace,“ofthegreatorderofNavigators.”
“Luckyforyou.”Ferroturnedhershouldertowardshim,strainingherearsto
hearwhatthetwooldmenweresayingbeyondthedoor,butLongfootwasnot
deterred.
“Itislucky!Yes,yes,itmostcertainlyis!Godhastrulyblessedme!Ideclare
thatnever,inallofhistory,hasamanbeensowellsuitedtohisprofession,ora
professiontoaman,asI,BrotherLongfoot,am suited to the noble science of
Navigation! From the snow-covered mountains of the far North, to the sun-
drenchedsandsoftheutmostSouth,thewholeworldismyhome,truly!”
Hesmiledatherwithalookofsickeningself-satisfaction.Ferroignoredhim.
Thetwopinks,thebigoneandthescrawnyone,weretalkingtoeachotheron
the far side of the room. They spoke in some language she didn’t understand.
Soundedlikepigsgrunting.Talkingabouthermaybe,butshedidn’tcare.They
wentoutanotherdoor,leavingheralonewiththepriest,stillflappinghislips.
“There are few nations within the Circle of the World to which I, Brother
Longfoot,am a stranger,andyet I amata loss astoyourorigins.” Hewaited
expectantly,butFerrosaidnothing.“Youwouldlikemetoguess,then?Indeed,
it is a riddle. Let me see… your eyes have the shape of the people of distant
Suljuk,wheretheblackmountainsrisesheerfromthesparklingsea,indeedthey
do,andyetyourskinis—”
“Stopyourmouth,cunt.”
Themanpausedinmid-sentence,coughedandmovedaway,leavingFerroto
attend to the voices on the other side of the door. She smiled to herself. The
wood was thick and the sounds were muffled, but the two old men had not
reckonedonthesharpnessofherears.TheywerestillspeakinginKantic.Now
thatidiotofaNavigatorwasquietshecouldmakeouteverywordthatYulwei
wassaying.
“…KhalulbreakstheSecondLaw,soyoumustbreaktheFirst?Ilikeitnot,
Bayaz! Juvens would never have allowed this!” Ferro frowned. Yulwei had a
strange note in his voice. Fear. The Second Law. He had spoken of it to the
Eaters,Ferroremembered.Itisforbiddentoeatthefleshofmen.
Sheheardthebaldpinknext.“TheFirstLawisaparadox.Allmagiccomes
from the Other Side, even ours. Whenever you change a thing you touch the
worldbelow,wheneveryoumakeathingyouborrowfromtheOtherSide,and
thereisalwaysacost.”
“But the cost of this might be too high! It is a cursed thing, this Seed, a
damned thing. Nothing but chaos grows from it! The sons of Euz, so great in
wisdomand power,thisSeed wasthe endofthem, ofallof them,indifferent
ways.AreyouwiserthanJuvens,Bayaz?AreyoumorecunningthanKanedias?
AreyoustrongerthanGlustrod?”
“Noneofthose,brother,buttellme…howmanyEatershasKhalulmade?”
Alongpause.“Icannotbesure.”
“Howmany?”
Another pause. “Perhaps two hundred. Perhaps more. The priesthood scour
theSouthforthosewithanypromise.Fasterandfasternowhemakesthem,but
mostareyoung,andweak.”
“Twohundredormore,andgrowingallthetime.Manyareweak,butamong
them are some that might be a match for you or I. Those that were Khalul’s
apprentices in the Old Time—the one they called the East Wind, and those
cursedbloodytwins.”
“Damnthosebitches!”Yulweigroaned.
“NottomentionMamun,whoseliesbeganthischaos.”
“Thetroublewaswellrootedbeforehewasevenborn,youknowit,Bayaz.
StillMamunwasintheBadlands.Ifelthimnear.Heisgrownterriblestrong.”
“YouknowthatIamright.Meanwhile,ournumbershardlygrow.”
“Ithoughtthisone,Quai,showedpromise?”
“We need only a hundred more like him and twenty years in which to train
them. Then we might stand on equal terms. No, brother, no. We must use fire
againstfire.”
“Evenif thefireburns youandall creationto ashes?Letme gotoSarkant.
Khalulmightyethearreason—”
Laughter. “He has enslaved half the world! When will you wake, Yulwei?
Whenhehasenslavedtherestofit?Icannotaffordtoloseyou,brother!”
“Remember,Bayaz,thereareworsethingsthanKhalul.Farworse.”Hisvoice
dropped to a whisper and Ferro strained to hear. “The Tellers of Secrets are
alwayslistening…”
“Enough, Yulwei! It is better not even to think of it!” Ferro frowned. What
wasthisnonsense?TellersofSecrets?Whatsecrets?
“Remember what Juvens told you, Bayaz. Beware of pride. You have been
usingtheArt.Iknowit.Iseeashadowonyou.”
“Damn your shadows! I do what I must! Remember what Juvens told you,
Yulwei.Onecannotwatchforever.Timeisshort,andIwillwatchnolonger.I
amfirst.Itismydecisiontomake.”
“Have I not always followed where you have led? Always, even when my
consciencetoldmeotherwise?”
“AndhaveIeverledyouwrong?”
“Thatremainstobeseen.Youarefirst,Bayaz,butyouarenotJuvens.Itismy
parttoquestion,andthatofZacharustoo.HewilllikethisstilllessthanI.Far
less.”
“Itmustbedone.”
“But others will pay the price, as they always have. This Northman,
Ninefingers,hecanspeaktothespirits?”
“Yes.”Ferrofrowned.Spirits?Thenine-fingeredpinkhadscarcelylookedas
ifhecouldspeaktootherhumans.
“AndifyoufindtheSeed,”cameYulwei’svoicefrombehindthedoor,“you
meanforFerrotocarryit?”
“Shehastheblood,andsomeonemust.”
“Be careful then, Bayaz. I know you, remember. Few better. Give me your
wordthatyouwillkeephersafe,evenaftershehasservedyourpurpose.”
“IwillguardhermorecloselythanIwouldmyownchild.”
“GuardhercloserthanyoudidtheMaker’schild,andIwillbesatisfied.”
Alongsilence.Ferroworkedherjawasshethoughtonwhatshehadheard.
Juvens,Kanedias,Zacharus—thestrangenamesmeantnothingtoher.Andwhat
kindof seed could burnallcreation to ashes?Shewantedno part ofanysuch
thing,shewassureofthat.Herplacewasinthesouth,fightingtheGurkishwith
weaponsthatsheunderstood.
The door opened, and the two old men stepped through. They could hardly
havelookedmoredifferent.Onedark-skinned,tallandbonywithlonghair,the
other white-skinned, heavy-built and bald. She looked at them suspiciously. It
wasthewhiteonewhospokefirst.
“Ferro,Ihaveanofferto—”
“Iamnotgoingwithyou,oldpinkfool.”
Theslightestshadowofannoyanceflittedacrossthebaldman’sface,butwas
quickly mastered. “Why? What other business have you which is so very
pressing?”
Thatneedednothinkingabout.“Vengeance.”Herfavouriteword.
“Ah.Isee.YouhatetheGurkish?”
“Yes.”
“Theyoweyouadebt,forwhattheyhavedonetoyou?”
“Yes.”
“Fortakingyourfamily,yourpeople,yourcountry?”
“Yes.”
“For making you a slave,” he whispered. She glowered back at him,
wonderinghowhe knewsomuchabouther,wondering whethertogo forhim
again. “They have robbed you, Ferro, robbed you of everything. They have
stolen your life from you. If I were you… if I had suffered as you have
suffered… there would not be enough blood in all the South to satisfy me. I
wouldseeeveryGurkishsoldiermadeacorpsebeforeIwassatisfied.Iwould
see every Gurkish city burn before I was satisfied. I would see their Emperor
rottinginacagebeforehisownpalacebeforeIwassatisfied!”
“Yes!”shehissed,afiercesmileacrossherface.Hewastalkingherlanguage
now.Yulweihadnevertalkedso—perhapsthisoldpinkwasn’tsobadafterall.
“Youunderstand!ThatiswhyImustgosouth!”
“No,Ferro.”Itwasthebaldmangrinningnow.“Youdonotrealisethechance
thatIamofferingyou.TheEmperordoesnottrulyruleinKama.Mightythough
heseems,hedancestothetuneofanother,ahandwellhidden.Khalul,theycall
him.”
“TheProphet.”
Bayaznodded.“Ifyouarecut,doyouhatetheknife,ortheonewhowields
it?TheEmperor,theGurkish,theyarebutKhalul’stools,Ferro.Emperorscome
andgo, butthe Prophetis alwaysthere, behindthem.Whispering.Suggesting.
Ordering.Heistheonethatowesyou.”
“Khalul… yes.” The Eaters had used that name. Khalul. The Prophet. The
Emperor’s palacewas filledwith priests,everyone knewit. Thepalaces ofthe
governors too. Priests, they were everywhere, swarming, like insects. In the
cities, in the villages, in amongst the soldiers, always spreading their lies.
Whispering. Suggesting. Ordering. Yulwei was frowning, unhappy, but Ferro
knewthattheoldpinkwasright.“Yes,Iseeit!”
“Help me, and I will give you vengeance, Ferro. Real vengeance. Not one
dead soldier, or ten, but thousands. Tens of thousands! Perhaps the Emperor
himself, who knows?” He shrugged, and half turned away from her. “Still, I
cannotforceyou.GobacktotheBadlands,ifyouwish—hide,andrun,andgrub
in the dust like a rat. If that satisfies you. If that is the full measure of your
vengeance. The Eaters want you now. Khalul’s children. Without us they will
haveyou,andsoonerratherthanlater.Still,thechoiceisyours.”
Ferro frowned. All those years in the wilderness, fighting tooth and nail,
alwaysrunning,hadgothernothing.Novengeanceworthyoftheword.Ifithad
notbeenforYulwei,shewouldbefinishednow.Whitebonesinthedesert.Meat
inthebelliesoftheEaters.InthecagebeforetheEmperor’spalace.
Rotting.
Shecouldnotsayno,andsheknewit,butshedidnotlikeit.Thisoldman
hadknownexactlywhattoofferher.Shehatedtohavenochoice.
“Iwillthinkaboutit,”shesaid.
Again,theslightestshadowofangeronthebaldpink’sface,quicklycovered.
“Thinkaboutitthen,butnotforlong.TheEmperor’ssoldiersaremassing,and
timeisshort.”Hefollowedthe others out of the room, leaving her alone with
Yulwei.
“Idonotlikethesepinks,”shesaid,loudenoughfortheoldonetohearherin
thecorridor,andthenmoresoftly.“Dowehavetogowiththem?”
“Youdo.ImustreturntotheSouth.”
“What?”
“SomeonemustkeepwatchontheGurkish.”
“No!”
Yulweibegantolaugh.“Twiceyouhavetriedtokillme.Onceyouhavetried
torunawayfromme,butnowthatIamleavingyouwantmetostay?There’sno
understandingyou,Ferro.”
Shefrowned.“Thisbaldonesayshecangivemevengeance.Doeshelie?”
“No.”
“ThenImustgowithhim.”
“Iknow.ThatiswhyIbroughtyouhere.”
Shecouldthinkofnothingtosay.Shelookeddownatthefloor,butYulwei
surprisedherbysteppingforwardsuddenly.Sheraisedherhand,towardoffa
blow,butinsteadheputhisarmsroundherandsqueezedhertightly.Astrange
feeling.Beingsoclosetosomeoneelse.Warm.ThenYulweisteppedaway,one
handonhershoulder.“WalkinGod’sfootsteps,FerroMaljinn.”
“Huh.TheyhavenoGodhere.”
“Sayratherthattheyhavemany.”
“Many?”
“Hadyounotnoticed?Here,eachmanworshipshimself.”Shenodded.That
seemedclosetothetruth.“Becareful,Ferro.AndlistentoBayaz.Heisthefirst
ofmyorder,andfewindeedarewiseashe.”
“Idonottrusthim.”
Yulwei leaned closer. “I did not tell you to trust him.” Then he smiled, and
turned his back. She watched him walk slowly to the door, then out into the
corridor.Sheheardhisbarefeetflappingawayonthetiles,thebanglesonhis
armsjinglingsoftly.
Leavingheralonewiththeluxury,andthegardens,andthepinks.
OldFriends
Therewasathumpingknockatthedoor,andGloktajerkedhisheadup,left
eye suddenly twitching. Who the hell comes knocking at this hour? Frost?
Severard?Orsomeoneelse?SuperiorGoyle,maybe,cometopaymeavisitwith
his circus freaks? Might the Arch Lector have grown tired of his toy cripple
already? One could hardly say the feast went according to plan, and his
Eminenceishardlytheforgivingtype.Bodyfoundfloatingbythedocks…
Theknockingcameagain.Loud,confidentknocking.Thekindthatdemands
thedoor beopened,before it’sbrokendown. “I’m coming!” he shouted, voice
cracking slightly as he prised himself out from behind his table, legs wobbly.
“I’mjustcoming!”Hesnatcheduphiscaneandlimpedtothefrontdoor,tooka
deepbreathandfumbledwiththelatch.
It was not Frost, or Severard. Nor was it Goyle, or one of his freakish
Practicals. It was someone much more unexpected. Glokta raised an eyebrow,
thenleanedagainstthedoorframe.“MajorWest,whatasurprise.”
Sometimes,whenoldfriendsmeet,thingsareinstantlyastheywereallthose
years before. The friendship resumes, untouched, as though there had been no
interruption. Sometimes, but not now. “Inquisitor Glokta,” mumbled West—
hesitant,awkward,embarrassed.“I’msorrytobotheryousolate.”
“Don’tmentionit,”saidGloktawithicyformality.
TheMajornearlywinced.“MayIcomein?”
“Of course.” Glokta shut the front door behind him, then limped after West
into his dining room. The Major squeezed himself into one of the chairs and
Glokta took another. They sat there facing each other for a moment, without
speaking. What the hell does he want, at this hour or any other? Glokta
scrutinisedhisoldfriend’sfaceintheglowfromthefireandtheone,flickering
candle.Nowthathecouldseehimmoreclearly,herealisedWesthadchanged.
Helooksold.Hishairwasthinningatthetemples,goinggreyroundhisears.His
facewaspale,pinched,slightlyhollow.Helooksworried.Grounddown.Close
to the edge. West looked round at the mean room, the mean fire, the mean
furniture,cautiouslyupatGlokta,thenquicklydownatthefloor.Nervous,asif
hehadsomethingpickingathismind.Helooksillatease.Aswellhemight.
Hedidnotseemreadytobreakthesilence,soGloktadiditforhim.“So,how
long has it been, eh? Apart from that night in town, and we can hardly count
that,canwe?”
The memory of that unfortunate meeting hung between them for a moment
likeafart,thenWestclearedhisthroat.“Nineyears.”
“Nineyears.Imaginethat.Sincewestoodontheridge,oldfriendstogether,
lookingdowntowardstheriver.DowntowardsthebridgeandallthoseGurkish
ontheotherside.Seemsalifetimeago,doesn’tit?Nineyears.Icanremember
youpleadingwithmenottogodownthere,butIwashavingnoneofit.Whata
foolIwas,eh?ThoughtIwasouronlyhope.ThoughtIwasinvincible.”
“Yousavedusallthatday,savedthewholearmy.”
“DidI?Howwonderful.IdaresayifI’ddiedonthatbridgethere’dbestatues
ofmeallovertheplace.ShameIdidn’t,really.Shameforeveryone.”
West winced and shifted in his chair, looking ever more uncomfortable. “I
lookedforyou,afterwards…”hemumbled.
Youlookedforme?Howhugelyfuckingnoble.Whatatruefriend.Precious
littlegooditdidme,draggedoffinagonywithmyleghackedtomincemeat.And
thatwasjustthebeginning.“Youdidnotcometodiscussoldtimes,West.”
“No…no,Ididn’t.Icameaboutmysister.”
Gloktapaused.Hehadcertainlynotexpectedthatanswer.“Ardee?”
“Ardee,yes.I’mleavingforAnglandsoonand…Iwashopingthat,perhaps,
youcouldkeepaneyeonherforme,whileI’maway.”West’seyesflickeredup
nervously.“Youalwayshadawaywithwomen…Sand.”Gloktagrimacedatthe
sound of his first name. No one called him that anymore. No one besides my
mother. “You always knew just what to say. Do you remember those three
sisters?Whatweretheirnames?Youhadthemalleatingoutofyourhand.”West
smiled,butGloktacouldn’t.
He remembered, but the memories were weak now, colourless, faded. The
memories of another man. A dead man. My life began in Gurkhul, in the
Emperor’sprisons.Thememoriessincethenaremuchmorereal.Stretchedout
inbedlikeacorpseafterIcameback,inthedarkness,waitingforfriendswho
nevercame.HelookedatWest,andheknewthathisglancewasterriblycold.
Doyouthinktowinmewithyourhonestfaceandyourtalkofoldtimes?Likea
long-lostdog,atlastcomefaithfullyhome?Iknowbetter.Youstink,West.You
smelllikebetrayal.Thatmemoryatleastismine.
Gloktaleanedbackslowlyinhischair.“SanddanGlokta,”hemurmured,as
though recalling a name he once knew. “Whatever became of him, eh, West?
You know, that friend of yours, that dashing young man, handsome, proud,
fearless?Magictouchwiththewomen?Lovedandrespectedbyall,destinedfor
greatthings?Whereverdidhego?”
Westlookedback,puzzledandunsureofhimself,andsaidnothing.
Gloktalurchedtowardshim,handsspreadoutonthetable,lipscurlingback
toshowhisruinedmouth.“Dead!Hediedonthebridge!Andwhatremains?A
fucking ruin with his name! A limping, skulking shadow! A crippled ghost,
clingingtolifethewaythesmellofpissclingstoabeggar.Hehasnofriends,
this loathsome fucking remnant, and he wants none! Get you gone, West! Go
backto Varuz,andto Luthar,andthe restofthose emptybastards! There’sno
onehereyouknow!”Glokta’slipstrembledandspatwithrevulsion.Hewasn’t
surewhodisgustedhimmore—West,orhimself.
The Major blinked, his jaw muscles working silently. He got shakily to his
feet.“I’msorry,”hesaid,overhisshoulder.
“Tell me!” shouted Glokta, bringing him up short of the door. “The rest of
them, they stuck to me so long as I was useful, so long as I was going up. I
alwaysknew it.Iwasn’tso verysurprisedthey wantednothing todowith me
whenIcameback.Butyou,West,Ialwaysthoughtyouwereabetterfriendthan
that,abetterman.Ialwaysthoughtthatyouatleast—youalone—wouldcome
to visit me.” He shrugged. “I suppose I was wrong.” Glokta turned away,
frowningtowardsthefire,waitingforthesoundofthefrontdoorclosing.
“Shedidn’ttellyou?”
Gloktalookedback.“Who?”
“Yourmother.”
Hesnorted.“Mymother?Tellmewhat?”
“I did come. Twice. As soon as I learned that you were back, I came. Your
motherturnedmeawayatthegatesofyourestate.Shesaidthatyouweretooill
to take visitors, and that in any case you wanted nothing more to do with the
army,andnothing more todowithme in particular. I camebackagain, a few
monthslater.IthoughtIowedyouthatmuch.Thattimeaservantcametosee
meoff.LaterIheardthatyouhadjoinedtheInquisition,andleftforAngland.I
putyououtofmymind…untilwemet…thatnightinthecity…”Westtrailed
off.
It took a while for his words to sink in, and by the time they had, Glokta
realisedthathismouthwashangingopen.Sosimple.Noconspiracy.Nowebof
betrayal.Healmostwantedtolaughatthestupidityofit.Mymotherturnedhim
away at the gate, and I never thought to doubt that no one came. She always
hatedWest.Amostunsuitablefriend,farbeneathherpreciousson.Nodoubtshe
blamedhimforwhathappenedtome.Ishouldhaveguessed,butIwastoobusy
wallowing in pain and bitterness. Too busy being tragic. He swallowed. “You
came?”
Westshrugged.“Forwhatit’sworth.”
Well.Whatcanwedo,excepttrytodobetter?Gloktablinked,andtookadeep
breath. “Tm, er… I’m sorry. Forget what I said, if you can. Please. Sit down.
Youweresayingsomethingaboutyoursister.”
“Yes.Yes.Mysister.”Westfumbledhiswaybacktohisseat,lookingdownat
thefloor,hisfacetakingonthatworried,guiltylookagain.“We’releavingfor
Anglandsoon,andIdon’tknowwhenI’llbeback…orif,Isuppose…she’llbe
withoutanyfriendsinthecityand,well…Ithinkyoumetheronce,whenyou
cametoourhouse.”
“Ofcourse,andagooddealmorerecentlythanthat,infact.”
“Youdid?”
“Yes.Withourmutualfriend,CaptainLuthar.”
Westturnedevenpaler.Thereissomethingmoretothisthanheistellingme.
ButGloktadidnotfeellikeputtinghisclubfootthroughhisonefriendshipquite
yet,notsosoonafterithadbeenreborn.Hestayedquiet,andafteramomentthe
Majorwenton.
“Lifehasbeen…difficultforher.Icouldhavedonesomething.Ishouldhave
donesomething.”Hestaredmiserablydownatthetableandanuglyspasmran
acrosshisface.Iknowthatone.Oneofmyownfavourites.Self-loathing.“ButI
chosetoletotherthingsgetintheway,andIdidmybesttoforgetallaboutit,
andIpretendedthateverythingwasfine.ShehassufferedandIamtoblame.”
He coughed, then swallowed awkwardly. His lip began to tremble and he
covered his face with his hands. “My fault… if something were to happen to
her…” His shoulders shook silently, and Glokta raised his eyebrows. He was
usedtomencryinginhispresenceofcourse.ButIusuallyhaveatleasttoshow
themtheinstrumentsfirst.
“Come on, Collem, this isn’t like you.” He reached slowly across the table,
halfpulledhishandback,andthenpattedhissobbingfriendawkwardlyonthe
shoulder.“You’vemadesomemistakes,buthaven’tweall?They’reinthepast,
andcan’tbechanged.There’snothingtobedonenowexcepttodobetter,eh?”
What?Can it reallybeme talking?InquisitorGlokta, comforterofthe needy?
ButWestseemedreassured.Heliftedhishead,wipedhisrunnynose,staredup
hopefullyatGloktawithweteyes.
“You’reright,you’reright,ofcourse.Ihavetomakeamends.Haveto!Will
youhelpme,Sand?Willyoulookafterher,whileI’mgone?”
“I’ll do whatever I can for her, Collem, you can depend on me. I was once
proudtocallyoumyfriendand…Iwouldbeagain.”Strange,butGloktacould
almostfeelatearinhisowneye.Me?Canitbe?InquisitorGlokta,trustworthy
friend? Inquisitor Glokta, protector of vulnerable young women? He almost
laughedoutloudattheidea,andyetherehewas.Heneverwouldhavethought
thatheneededone,butitfeltgoodtohaveafriendagain.
“Hollit,”saidGlokta.
“What?”
“Those three sisters, their name was Hollit.” He chuckled to himself, the
memory filtering through a little clearer than before. “They had a thing about
fencing.Lovedit.Somethingaboutthesweat,maybe.”
“IthinkthatwaswhenIdecidedtotakeitup.”Westlaughed,thenscrewedup
his face as if he was trying to remember something. “What was our
quartermaster’sname?Hehadathingfortheyoungestone,wasoutofhismind
withjealousy.Whatthehellwasthatman’sname?Fatman.”
ThenamewasnotsoverydifficultforGloktatorecall.“Rews.SalemRews.”
“Rews,that’stheone!I’dforgottenallabouthim.Rews!Hecouldtellastory
likenooneelse,thatman.We’dsitupallnightlisteningtohim,allofusrolling
withlaughter!Whateverbecameofhim?”
Glokta paused for a moment. “I think he left the army… to become a
merchant of some sort.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I heard he moved
north.”
BacktotheMud
Carleonweren’tatallhowtheDogmanrememberedit,butthenhetendedto
remember it burning. A memory like that stays with you. Roofs falling in,
windows cracking, crowds of fighters everywhere, all drunk on pain and
winningand,well,drink—looting,killing,settingfires,alltheunpleasantrestof
it. Women screaming, men shouting, stinking with smoke and fear. In short, a
sack,withhimandLogenattheheartofit.
Bethodhadputthefiresoutandmadeithis.Movedin,thenstartedbuilding.
Hehadn’tgotfarwhenhekickedLogenandtheDogmanandtherestofthem
intoexile,buttheymusthavebeenbuildingeverydaysince.Itwastwiceasbig
nowasitusedtobe,evenbeforeitgotburned,coveringthewholehillandall
the slope down to the river. Bigger than Uffrith. Bigger than any city the
Dogmanhadseen.Fromwherehewas,upinthetreesontheothersideofthe
valley,youcouldn’tseethepeople,buttherehadtobeanawfullotofthemin
there.Threenewroadsleadingoutfromthegates.Twobignewbridges.New
buildings everywhere, and big ones where the small ones used to be. Lots of
them.Builtfromstone,mostly,slateroofs,glassinsomeofthewindowseven.
“Theybeenbusy,”saidThreetrees.
“Newwalls,”saidGrim.
“Lotsof’em,”mutteredtheDogman.Therewerewallsallover.Therewasa
big one round the outside, with proper towers and everything, and a big ditch
beyond it. There was an even bigger one round the top of the hill where
Skarling’sHallusedtostand.Hugegreatthing.Dogmancouldhardlyworkout
where they got all the stone for the building of it. “Biggest damn wall I ever
saw,”hesaid.
Threetreesshookhishead.“Idon’tlikeit.IfForleygetstook,wewon’tnever
gethimout.”
“IfForleygetstookthere’llbefiveofus,chief,andwe’llbelookedfor.He’s
nothreat tonoone, butwe are.Gettinghim out’llbe theleastof ourworries.
He’llmuddlethrough,likealways.Mostlikelyhe’lloutlivethelotofus.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” muttered Threetrees.“We’re in a dangerous line of
work.”
They slithered back through the brush, back to the camp. Black Dow was
there,lookingevenworse-temperedthanusual.TulDurutoo,workingatahole
inhiscoatwithaneedle,faceallscrewedupashisgreatthickfingersfumbled
withthelittlesplinterofmetal.Forleywassatnearhim,lookingupatthesky
throughtheleaves.
“HowyoufeelingForley?”askedtheDogman.
“Bad,butyougottohavefeartohavecourage.”
Dogmangrinnedathim.“SoIheard.Reckonwe’rebothheroesthen,eh?”
“Mustbe,”hesaid,grinningback.
Threetreeswasallbusiness.“Yousureaboutthis,Forley?Sureyouwanttogo
inthere?Onceyougetin,theremightbenogettingout,nomatterhowgooda
talkery’are.”
“I’msure.Imaybeshittin’myself,butI’mgoing.Icandomoregoodthere
thanIcanouthere.Someone’sgottowarn’emabouttheShanka.Youknowit,
chief.Whoelseisthere?”
Theoldboynoddedtohimself,slowasthesunrising.Takinghismoment,as
always.“Aye.Alright.Tell’emI’mwaitinghere,bytheoldbridge.Tell’emI’m
alone.JustincaseBethoddecidesyou’renotwelcome,youunderstand?”
“I get it. You’re on your own, Threetrees. It was just the two of us made it
backoverthemountains.”
They’dallgatherednow,andForleysmiledroundat’em.“Wellthen,lads,it’s
beensomethingain’tit?”
“Shut up, Weakest,” scowled Dow. “Bethod ain’t got nothing against you.
You’recomingback.”
“Incase Idon’t,though.It’sbeensomething.”TheDogmannoddedtohim,
awkward.Itwasthesamedirty,scarred-upfacesasusual,butgrimmerthanever.
Noneof’emlikedlettingoneoftheirownputhimselfindanger,butForleywas
right,someonehadtodoit,andhewasthebestsuited.Sometimesweaknessisa
bettershieldthan strength, the Dogman reckoned. Bethod was an evil bastard,
buthewasacleverone.TheShankawerecoming,andheneededthewarning.
Hopefully,he’dbegratefulforit.
Theywalkedtogether,downtotheedgeofthetrees,lookingouttowardsthe
path.Itcrossedovertheoldbridgeandwounddownintothevalley.Fromthere
tothegatesofCarleon.IntoBethod’sfortress.
Forley took a deep breath, and the Dogman clapped him on his shoulder.
“Luck,Forley.Goodluck.”
“Andtoyou.”HesqueezedDogman’shandinhisforaminute.“Toallofyou
lads,eh?”andheturnedandmarchedofftowardsthebridge,withhisheadup
high.
“Luck,Forley!”shoutedBlackDow,startlingthemall.
Heturnedroundforaminute,theWeakest,stoodontopofthebridge,andhe
grinned.Thenhewasgone.
Threetreestookadeepbreath.“Weapons,”hesaid,“justincaseBethoddon’t
wanttohearsense.Andwaitforthesignal,eh?”
Itseemedalongtimewaiting,upintheleaves,stayingquietandstill,looking
down at all them new walls. The Dogman lay on his belly, bow near at hand,
watching,waiting,wonderinghowForleywasdoinginthere.Along,tensetime.
Thenhesawthem.Horsemencomingoutthenearestgate,ridingoveroneofthe
newbridges,crossing the river.They’d got acartatthe back. Dogman wasn’t
surewhythey’dhaveacart,buthedidn’tlikeitany.NosignofForley,andhe
wasn’tsurewhetherthatwasagoodthingorabad.
Theycamequick,spurringupthesideofthevalley,upthesteeppathtowards
thetreesandthestreamandtheoldstonebridgeacrossit.RightattheDogman.
Hecouldhearthehoovesthumpingonthedirt.Closeenoughtocountnow,and
takeagoodlookat.Spears,shieldsandgoodarmour.Helmetsandmail.Tenof
’em,andtwootherssittingonthecart,eithersideofthedriver,carryingsome
sortsof thingsthatlooked likelittlebows onblocks of wood.He didn’tknow
whattheywereabout,andhedidn’tlikenotknowing.Hewastheonewantedto
begivingthemthesurprises.
He wriggled back through the brush on his stomach, sloshed through the
streamandhurriedtotheedgeofthetrees,wherehecouldgetagoodviewof
theoldbridge.Threetrees,TulandDowwerestandingroundthenearsideofit,
and he waved over to them. Couldn’t see Grim, he must’ve been off in the
woodsawaybeyond.Hemadethesignforhorsemen,helduphisfisttosayten,
handflatonhischesttosayarmour.
Dowtookuphisswordandaxe,ranupintoabunchofbrokenrocks,highup
besidethebridge,keepinglowandquiet.Tulsliddownthebankintothestream,
luckilynomorethanknee-deeprightthen,plasteredhisbigselfagainstthefar
side of the arch with his great long sword held up above the water. Made the
Dogmanabitnervous,hecouldseeTulsoclearfromwherehewassitting.Still,
theriderswouldn’tseehimatalliftheycamestraightupthepath.They’donly
be expecting one man alone, and Dogman hoped they wouldn’t come too
careful.Hehoped,’causeiftheytookthetimetocheckit’dbeafuckingdisaster.
HewatchedThreetreesstraphisshieldonhisarm,drawhissword,stretchhis
neckout,thenhejuststood,waiting,bigandsolid,blockingthepathonthenear
sideofthebridge,seemingallaloneintheworld.
The Dogman could hear the hoof-beats loud now, and the clattering of the
cart’swheelsoutbeyondthetrees.Hepulledoutafewarrowsandplantedthem
in the earth, point down, where he could get to ’em quick. Doing his best to
swallowhisfear.Hisfingerswereshakingallthewhile,butthatdidn’tmatter.
They’dworkalrightwhentheyneededto.
“Waitforthesignal,”hewhisperedtohimself.“Waitforthesignal.”
He nocked a shaft to his bow and half-drew the string, taking aim down
towardsthebridge.Damnitbutheneededtopissbad.
The first spear-point showed itself over the crest of the hill, then others.
Bobbing helmets, mailed chests, horses’ faces, bit by bit the riders came up
towards the bridge. The cart rolled behind, with its driver and its two funny
passengers,pulledbyabigshaggycarthorse.
TheriderupfrontsawThreetreesnow,waitingforhim,overthehumpofthe
bridge, and he spurred on forward. The Dogman breathed a little easier as the
otherstrottedafterhiminaclump,alleagerness.Forleymust’vesaidashewas
told—they were expecting only one. Dogman could see Tul peering up from
underneath the mossy arch as the horses clopped above him. By the dead, his
handswereshaking.Hewasworriedhe’dletthearrowflyhalf-drawnandruin
thewholething.
Thecartstoppedonthefarbank,thetwomenonitstoodupandpointedtheir
strangebowsatThreetrees.TheDogmangothimselfaniceaimononeof’em,
anddrewthestringbackalltheway.Mostoftheriderswereonthebridgeby
now,horsesshyingandstirringabout,unhappyatbeingpackedinsotight.The
oneatthefrontreinedupinfrontofThreetrees,spearpointingathim.Theold
boydidn’tbackawayastep,though.Nothim.Hejustfrownedup,notgivingthe
ridersanyroomtogetaroundhim,keeping’emchokeduponthebridge.
“Well, well,” the Dogman heard their leader saying. “Rudd Threetrees. We
thought you was long dead, old man.” He knew the voice. One of Bethod’s
Carls,fromwayback.Bad-Enoughtheycalledhim.
“Reckon I’ve got a fight or two left in me,” said Threetrees, still giving no
ground.
Bad-Enoughtookalookabouthim,squintingintothetrees,senseenoughto
see he was in a poor position, but not too careful. “Where’s the rest of you?
Where’sthatfuckerDow,eh?”
Threetreesshrugged.“There’sjustme.”
“Back to the mud, eh?” The Dogman could just see Bad-Enough grinning
underhishelmet.“Shame.HopedI’dbetheonetokillthatdirtybastard.”
Dogmanwinced,halfexpectingDowtocomeflyingoutofthoserocksright
then,buttherewasnosignofhim.Notyet.Waitingforthesignal,foronce.
“Where’sBethod?”askedThreetrees.
“TheKingdon’tcomeoutforthelikesofyou!Anyhow,he’soffinAngland,
kickingtheUnion’sarses.PrinceCalder’stakingcareofthingswhilehe’sgone.”
Threetrees snorted. “Prince is it, now? I remember him sucking on his
mother’stit.Hecouldscarcelydothatright.”
“Alot’schanged,oldman.Allkindofthings.”
Bythedead,Dogmanwaswishingthey’dgetonwithit,onewayoranother.
He could hardly keep the piss in. “Wait for the signal,” he was mouthing to
himself,justtotryandkeephishandssteady.
“TheFlatheadsareeverywhere,”Threetreeswassaying.“They’llbecoming
southbynextsummer,soonermaybe.Somethingneedsdoing.”
“Well, whydon’t you comewithus, eh?You canwarn Calder yourself.We
broughtacart,foryoutoridein.Manofyourageshouldn’thavetowalk.”A
coupleoftheotherriderslaughedatthat,butThreetreesdidn’tjoin’em.
“Where’sForley?”hegrowled.“Where’stheWeakest?”
Therewasmoresniggeringfromthehorsemen.“Oh,he’snearby,”saidBad-
Enough,“he’srealclose.Whydon’tyougetinthecart,andwe’lltakeyouright
tohim.ThenwecanallsitroundandtalkaboutFlatheads,niceandpeaceful.”
TheDogmandidn’tlikethis.Notatall.He’dgotanastyfeeling.“Youmust
take me for some new kind o’ fool,” said Threetrees. “I’m going nowhere ’til
I’veseenForley.”
Bad-Enoughfrownedatthat.“You’reinnostatetobetellinguswhatyou’ll
do.Youmighthavebeenthebigmanonce,butyou’recometolessthannothing,
andthat’safact.NowgiveupyourbladeandgetinthefuckingcartlikeItold
you,beforeIlosemytemper.”
He tried to nudge his horse forward again but Threetrees wasn’t budging.
“Where’sForley?”hegrowled.“AndI’llhaveastraightanswerorI’llhaveyour
guts.”
Bad-Enough grinned over his shoulder at his mates, and they grinned back.
“Alright, old man, since you’re asking. Calder wanted us to wait for this, but
I’vegottoseethelookonyourface.TheWeakest’sinthecart.Leastways,most
of him is.” He smiled and let something drop from his saddle. A canvas sack,
withsomethinginit.Dogmancouldguessalreadywhatitwas.Ithittheground
nearThreetrees’ feet. The something rolledout,andthe Dogman could see on
theoldboy’sfacethathe’dguessedright.Forley’shead.
Wellthatwasit,o’course.Fuckthesignal.Dogman’sfirstarrowstuckoneof
themenonthecartrightthroughhischest,andhescreamedandtumbledover
intotheback,draggingthedriverwithhim.Itwasagoodshot,buttherewasno
time to think on that, he was far too busy fumbling for another arrow, and
shouting. Didn’t even know what he was shouting, just that he was. Grim
must’vebeenshootingaswell,oneoftheCarlsonthebridgegaveayell,felloff
hishorseandsplashedintothestream.
Threetreeswasdowninacrouch,hidingbehindhisshield,backingoffwhile
Bad-Enoughproddedathimwithhisspear,kickinghishorseoffthebridgeand
ontothepathonourside.
The rider behind pushed around the side of him, keen to get off the bridge,
comingclosebesidetherocks.
“Fuckingbastards!”Dowflewoutofthestonesabovehim,barrelledintothe
rider. They tumbled down together, a mess of limbs and weapons, but the
DogmancouldseethatDowwasontop.Hisaxewentupanddownacoupleof
times,quick.Onelesstoworryon.
Dogman’ssecondarrowwentwellwideofthemark,hewassobusyshouting
hisheadoff,butitstuckoneofthehorsesintherump,andthatturnedoutbetter
than anything. It started rearing and thrashing about, and soon all the horses
were milling and crying while their riders cursed and bumbled around, spears
goingeverywhichway,noiseandmessonallsides.
The horseman at the back split in half, all of a sudden, blood spraying
everywhere.TheThunderheadhadcomeupfromthestream,gotroundbehind
them.There’snoarmourthatcouldstopablowlikethat.Thegiantroaredand
swungthegreatlengthofbloodymetaloverhisheadagain.Thenextinlinegot
hisshieldupintime,buthemightaswellnothavebothered.Thebladehackeda
bigchunkoutofit,torehisheadopenandhammeredhimoutofthesaddle.The
blowwasthatstrongitclubbedthehorsedowntoo.
Oneofthemhadgothismountturnednow,bringinguphisspeartostabat
Tul from the side. Before he could he grunted and jerked, arching his back.
Dogmancouldseethefeathersstickingfromhisside.Grimmust’veshothim,
andhetumbleddown.Hisfootcaughtinthestirrupandhehungthere,swinging.
He was groaning and moaning and trying to right himself, but his horse was
plunging now along with the others, making him dance, wrong way up,
smacking his head against the side of the bridge. He dropped his spear in the
stream,triedtopullhimselfup,thenhishorsehalflandedakickonhisshoulder
andknockedhimfree.HewentdownunderthemillinghoovesandtheDogman
paidhimnomoremind.
The second archer was still sitting up on the cart. He was getting over his
shock now, and lining up his funny bow on Threetrees, still squatting down
behindhisshield.Dogmanshotathimbuthewashurrying,andyelling,andhis
shaftmissedandhitthedriverbesidehiminhisshoulder,justgotupfromthe
backofthecart,knockedhimbackdownagain.
The weird bow twanged and Threetrees jerked back from his shield. The
Dogman was worried for a minute, then he saw that the arrow split the heavy
woodandpunchedonthrough,butstoppedjustshortofcatchingThreetreesin
theface. Itwaslodged there throughhis shield, featherssticking outoneside,
pointouttheother.That’sanevillittlebow,Dogmanthought.
He heard Tul roar and saw another rider fly off into the stream. Another
dropped with one of Grim’s arrows in his back. Dow turned and chopped the
backlegs out fromunderBad-Enough’shorse withhissword, anditstumbled
andslid,pitchinghimoffontotheground.Thelastcoupleweretrapped.Dow
and Threetrees at one end of the bridge, Tul at the other, too tight with
frightened,riderlesshorsesforthemtoturnaroundornothing,atthemercyof
Grimoutinthewoods.Hewasn’tinamercifulmood,itseemed,anditdidn’t
takehimlongtopick’emoff.
Theonewiththebowtriedtomakeabreakforit,chuckinghisbitofwood
awayandjumpingdownfromthecart.Dogmanthoughtniceandcarefulabout
hisaimingthistime,andhisshaftgotthearcherrightbetweentheshouldersand
knockedhimonhisfacebeforehecouldgetmorethanafewpaces.Hehadago
atcrawling,buthewasn’tcrawlingfar.Thedriverofthecartshowedhisface
again,groaning and grabbingatthe arrowinhis shoulder.TheDogmandidn’t
usuallykillmenthatweredown,buthereckonedtodaywasanexception.His
arrowgotthedriverthroughthemouth,andthatwashimdealtwith.
Dogmancouldseeoneoftheriderslimpingaway,oneofGrim’sarrowsinhis
leg,andlinedhimupwithhislastshaft.Threetreesgottherefirstthough,and
stuckhimthroughthebackwithhissword.Therewasanotheronestillmoving,
strugglinguptohisknees,andtheDogmantookanaimonhim.Beforehecould
loose,Dowsteppedupandhackedhisheadoff.Bloodeverywhere.Horsesstill
milling,screaming,slippingontheslickstonesofthebridge.
DogmancouldseeBad-Enoughnow,thelastonegoing.Hemust’velosthis
helmetwhenhefelloffhishorse.Hewasstrugglinginthestreamonhishands
andknees,slowedupbyallthatweightofmail.He’ddroppedhisshield,andhis
spear,tomakebettertimerunningforit,buthehadn’trealisedhewascoming
rightattheDogman.
“Gethimalive!”shoutedThreetrees.Tulsetoffdownonebank,buthewas
makingslowprogress,slippingandslidinginthemudthecartchurnedup.“Get
him alive!” Dow was after him too, splashing and cursing in the water. Bad-
Enough was close now. The Dogman could hear his scared gasping as he
struggleddownthestream.
“Aah!” he howled as Dogman’s arrow thudded into his leg, just below the
bottomofhismailcoat.Hetoppledsidewaysontothebank,bloodleakinginto
themuddywater.Hestarteddragginghimselfupthewetturfbesidethestream.
“That’sit,Dogman,”shoutedThreetrees.“Alive!”
The Dogman slid out the trees and down the bank, through the water. He
pulledhisknifeout.TulandDowwerestillalittlewaysoff,hurryingtowards
him.Bad-Enoughrolledoverinthemud,hisfacescrewedupwiththepainof
thearrowinhisleg.Heheldhishandsup.“Alright,alright,I’llgurrr—”
“You’llwhat?”askedtheDogman,lookingdownathim.
“Gurrr—”hesaidagain,lookingmightilysurprised,handgrippedtohisneck.
Therewasbloodpouringoutbetweenhisfingers,downthefrontofhiswetmail.
Dowsplashedupbesidethemandstoodthere,lookingdown.“Wellthat’sthe
endofthat,”hesaid.
“Whatyoudothatfor?”shoutedThreetrees,hurryingover.
“Eh?”askedtheDogman.Thenhelookeddownathisknife.Itwasallbloody.
“Ah.”That’swhenhesawitwashimashadcutBad-Enough’sthroat.
“Wecouldhaveaskedhimquestions!”saidThreetrees.“Hecouldhavetooka
messagebacktoCalder,toldhimwhodidthis,andwhy!”
“Wake up, chief,” muttered Tul Duru, already wiping his sword down. “No
one cares a shit for the old ways no more. Besides, they’ll be after us soon
enough.Nopointletting’emknowmorethanwehaveto.”
Dow clapped the Dogman on the shoulder. “You were right to do it. This
bastard’s head’ll do for a message.” Dogman wasn’t sure Dow’s approval was
somethinghewasafter,butitwasabitlatenow.IttookDowacoupleofchops
togetBad-Enough’sheadoff.Hecarriedit,swingingbyitshair,withaslittle
careorworryashe’dcarryabagofturnips.Hegrabbedaspearoutofthestream
onhisway,foundaspotheliked.
“Thingsain’tthewaytheyusedtobe,”Threetreeswasmutteringashestrode
offdownthebanktowardsthebridge,whereGrimwasalreadypickingoverthe
bodies.
The Dogman followed him, watching Dow stick Bad-Enough’s head on the
spear, shoving the blunt end into the ground, stepping back, hands on hips, to
admirehiswork.Heshifteditabittotheright,thenbacktotheleft,untilhe’d
gotitniceandstraight.HegrinnedoverattheDogman.
“Perfect,”hesaid.
“Whatnow,chief?”Tulwasasking.“Whatnow?”
Threetreeswasstoopingdownonthebank,washinghisbloodyhandsinthe
river.
“Whatdowedo?”askedDow.
The old boy stood up slowly, wiped his hands on his coat, taking his time
thinkingonit.“South.WeburyForleyontheway.Wetake thesehorses here,
sincethey’llbecomingafterusnow,andweheadsouth.Tul,youbetterunhitch
thatcarthorse,he’stheonlyoneas’llcarryyou.”
“South?”askedtheThunderhead,lookingconfused,“southtowhere?”
“Angland.”
“Angland?” asked the Dogman, and he could tell they were all thinking it.
“Forwhat?Ain’ttheyfightingdownthere?”
“Coursetheyare,that’swhyI’veamindtogo.”
Dowfrowned.“Us?WhathavewegotagainsttheUnion?”
“No,fool,”saidThreetrees,“I’veamindtofightalongwith’em.”
“WiththeUnion?”askedTul,hislipcurlingup,“withthosebloodywomen?
Thatain’tourfight,chief.”
“Any fight against Bethod is my fight now. I mean to see the end of him.”
Oncehe’dthoughtonit,theDogmanhadneveryetseenThreetreeschangehis
mind.Neveronce.“Who’swithme?”heasked.
Theyallwere.Course.
Itwasraining.Thinrain,makingthewholeworlddamp.Softasamaiden’s
kiss,astheysay,thoughtheDogmancouldhardlyrememberwhatoneofthose
felt like. Rain. Seemed right somehow, for the occasion. Dow was done with
pilingthedirt,andhesniffedanddugthespadedownintotheearthbesidethe
grave.
Itwasalongwayfromtheroad.Agoodlongway.Theydidn’twantnoone
findingitanddiggingForleyup.Theyallgatheredround,justfivenow,looking
down. It was a long time since they’d had anyone to bury among them. The
Shanka got Logen o’ course, not too long ago, but they never had found the
body. There might have been just one less in the band, but it seemed to the
Dogmanliketherewasalotmissing.
Threetreesfrowned,takingamoment,thinkingoutwhattosay.Itwasjustas
wellhewasthechief,andhadtofindthewords,’causeDogmandidn’treckon
hecouldhavefoundathing.AfteraminuteThreetreesstartedspeaking,slowas
thelightfadingatsunset.
“Thiswasaweakman,here.TheWeakest,that’safact.Thatwashisname,
andain’tthatajoke?TocallamantheWeakest. Theworstfightertheycould
find,tosurrendertoNinefingers.Weakfighter,nodoubt,butstrongheart,sayI.”
“Aye,”saidGrim.
“Strongheart,”saidTulDuru.
“Thestrongest,”mumbledtheDogman.Hehadabitofalumpinthethroat,
beinghonest.
Threetreesnoddedtohimself.“Ittakessomebonestomeetyourdeathaswell
ashedid.Towalktoit,withnocomplaint.Toaskforit.Andnotforhisown
sake,butforothers,thathedidn’tevenknow.”Threetreesclenchedhisteethand
tookhismoment,lookingdownattheearth.Theyalldid.“That’sallI’vegotto
say.Back tothe mudwith you,Forley. We’re thepoorer, andthe ground’s the
richerforit.”
Dowkneltdown,andsethishandonthefresh-turnedsoil.“Backtothemud,”
hesaid.TheDogmanthoughtforaminutetheremightbeateardrippingoffhis
nose,butithadtobeonlytherain.ThiswasBlackDow,afterall.Hegotupand
walkedawaywithhisheaddownandtheothersfollowedhim,onebyone,off
towardthehorses.
“Fareyouwell,Forley,”saidtheDogman.“Nomorefear.”
Hereckonednowthathewasthecowardoftheband.
Misery
Jezalfrowned.Ardeewastakinghertime.Shenevertookhertime.Shewas
alwaystherewhenhearrived,atwhateverspothadbeenarranged.Hedidn’tlike
having to wait for her one bit. He always had to wait for her letters, and that
rankledasitwas.Standingherelikeanidiot,itmadehimfeelevenmoreofa
slavethanhedidalready.
Hefrownedupatthegreyskies.Therewereafewspotsofrainfalling,justto
matchhismood.Hefeltonefromtimetotime,atinypinprickonhisface.He
couldseethedropsmakingcirclesinthegreysurfaceofthelake,makingpale
streaksagainstthegreenofthetrees,thegreyofthebuildings.Thedarkshapeof
theHouseoftheMakerwasrenderedhazybythem.Hefrownedatthatbuilding
withparticulardispleasure.
Hehardlyknewwhattomakeofitnow.Thewholethinghadbeenlikesome
feverishnightmareand,likeanightmare,hehaddecidedsimplytoignoreit,and
pretenditneverhappened.Hemighthavesucceededtoo,exceptthatthebloody
thingwasalwaysloomingontheedgeofhisvision,wheneverhesteppedoutof
thedoor,remindinghimtheworldwasfullofmysterieshedidnotunderstand,
seethingjustbelowthesurface.
“Damnit,”hemuttered,“anddamnthatlunatic,Bayaz,aswell.”
Hefrownedacrossthedamplawns.Therainwaskeepingpeopleawayfrom
thepark,anditwasemptierthanhehadseenitinalongtime.Acoupleofsad-
lookingmensatlistlesslyonbenches,nursingtheirownpersonaltragedies,and
therewerepassers-byonthepaths,hurryingfromsomewheretowherever.One
wascomingtowardshimnow,wrappedupinalongcloak.
Jezal’sfrownvanished.Itwasher,hecouldtell.Shehadherhoodpulledright
down over her face. He knew it was a cold day, but this seemed a touch
dramatic.Hehadneverthoughtshewasthetypetobeputoffbyafewspotsof
rain. Still, he was glad to see her. Ridiculously glad. He smiled and hastened
forward. Then, when they were a couple of paces apart, she pushed the hood
back.
Jezal gasped with horror. There was a great purple bruise across her cheek,
aroundher eye,thecorner ofhermouth! Hestoodthere frozenfora moment,
wishing,stupidly,thathewashurtinsteadofher.Thepainwouldhavebeenless.
Herealisedhe’dclampedonehandoverhismouth,eyesbulginglikeanervous
littlegirlataspiderinthebath,buthecouldn’tstophimself.
Ardeeonlyscowled.“What?Didyouneverseeabruisebefore?”
“Well,yes,but…areyoualright?”
“OfcourseIam.”Shesteppedaroundhimandstartedwalkingoffdownthe
path.Hehad to hurry to catchherup.“It’s nothing.Ifellis all. I’m a clumsy
fool.Alwayshavebeen.Allmylife.”Shesaiditwithsomebitterness,itseemed
tohim.
“IsthereanythingIcando?”
“Whatcouldyoudo?Kissitbetter?”Ifthey’dbeenalonehewouldn’thave
mindedtrying,butherfrownshowedhimwhatshethoughtofthatidea.Itwas
strange:thebruisesshouldhaverepelledhim,buttheydidn’t.Notatall.Rather,
hehadanalmostoverpoweringurgetotakeherinhisarms,tostrokeherhair,to
murmur soothing words. Pathetic. Probably she would slap him if he tried.
Probably he would deserve it. She didn’t need his help. Besides, he couldn’t
touchher.Therewerepeoplearound,damnthem,eyeseverywhere.Younever
knewwhomightbewatching.Thethoughtmadehimmorethanalittlenervous.
“Ardee…aren’twetakingarisk?Imean,whatifyourbrotherwereto—”
Shesnorted.“Forgetabouthim.Hewon’tdoanything.I’vetoldhimtokeep
his nose out of my business.” Jezal had to smile. He imagined that must have
beenquiteanamusingscene.“Besides,Ihearthatyou’reallleavingforAngland
on the next tide, and I could hardly let you go without saying goodbye, now
couldI?”
“Iwouldn’thavedonethat!”hesaid,horrifiedagain.Ithurtjusthearingher
saythewordgoodbye.“Imean,well,I’dhaveletthemsailwithoutmebeforeI
would’vedonethat!”
“Huh.”
Theywalkedalonginsilenceforamoment,skirtingthelake,bothwiththeir
eyesonthegravel.Itwashardlythebitter-sweetfarewellthathehadpicturedso
far. Just bitter. They passed among the trunks of some willow trees, their
branches trailing in the water below. It was a secluded spot, screened from
pryingeyes.Jezalreckonedhewasunlikelytofindonebetterforwhathehadto
say.Heglancedsidewaysather,andtookadeepbreath.
“Ardee,er,Idon’tknowhowlongwe’llbeaway.Imean,Isupposeitcould
bemonths…”Hechewedathistoplip.Itwasnotcomingoutatallashehad
hoped.Hehadpractisedthisspeechtwentytimesatleast,staringinhismirror
until he got just the right expression: serious, confident, slightly wheedling.
Now, though, the words came out in a foolish rush. “I hope that, I mean,
perhaps,Ihopethatyou’llwaitforme?”
“I daresay I’ll still be here. I’ve nothing else to do. But don’t worry, you’ll
have a lot to think about in Angland—war, honour, glory and all that. You’ll
soonforgetaboutme.”
“No!”heshouted,catchingholdofherarm.“NoIwon’t!”Hepulledhishand
awayquickly,worriedsomeonemightsee.Atleastshewaslookingathimnow,
somewhatsurprised,maybe,athowfiercehisdenialhadbeen—thoughnothalf
assurprisedashewas.
Jezalblinkeddownather.Aprettygirlcertainly,buttoodark,tootanned,too
cleverbyhalf,simplydressedwithnojewels,andwithagreatuglybruiseacross
her face. She would hardly have excited much comment in the officer’s mess.
Howwasitthatsheseemedtohimthemostbeautifulwomanintheworld?The
PrincessTerezwasanunwasheddogbesideher.Thecleverwordsleakedoutof
hismindandhespokewithoutthinking,lookingherstraightintheeye.Maybe
thiswaswhathonestyfeltlike.
“Look,Ardee,Iknow you think I’m an ass and,well,IdaresayI am, but I
don’tplanalwaystobeone.Idon’tknowwhyyouevenlookatme,andIdon’t
knowmuchaboutthissortofthingbut,well…Ithinkaboutyouallthetime.I
hardly think about anything else any more.” He took another deep breath. “I
think…” He glanced around again, just to check that no one was watching. “I
thinkIloveyou!”
She spluttered with laughter. “You really are an ass,” she said. Despair. He
was utterly crushed. He couldn’t breathe for disappointment. His face screwed
up,hisheaddroopedandhestareddownattheground.Thereweretearsinhis
eyes.Actualtears.Pitiful.“ButI’llwait.”Joy.Itswelledinhischestandburst
outinalittlegirlishsob.Hewashelpless.Itwasridiculousthepowershehad
overhim.Thedifferencebetweenmiseryandhappinesswastherightwordfrom
her.Shelaughedagain.“Lookatyou,youfool.”
Shereachedupandtouchedhisface,rubbedatearfromhischeekwithher
thumb.“I’llwait,”shesaid,andshesmiledathim.Thatcrookedsmile.
The people had faded, the park, the city, the world. Jezal stared down at
Ardee,forhowlonghecouldnothavesaid,tryingtostampeverydetailofher
faceintohismind.Hehadafeeling,forsomereason,thatthememoryofthat
smilemighthavetogethimthroughalot.
Thedockswereheavingwithactivity,evenforthedocks.Thewharvesboiled
with people, the air shook and rattled with their din. Soldiers and supplies
poured endlessly up the slippery gangways and onto the ships. Crates were
hauled, barrels were rolled, hundreds of horses were dragged and pushed and
kickedaboard,eyesbulging,mouthsfrothing.Mengruntedandgroaned,heaved
atwetropes,strainedatwetbeams,sweatingandshoutinginthespittingrain,
slippingaroundontheslickdecks,runninghereandthereinepicconfusion.
Everywhere people embraced, kissed, waved to each other. Wives saying
goodbye to husbands, mothers to sons, children to fathers, all equally
bedraggled.Someputabravefaceonit,someweptandwailed.Othersdidnot
care:spectatorscomesimplytowitnessthemadness.
It all meant nothing to Jezal, leaning on the weathered rail of the ship that
wouldcarryhimtoAngland.Hewassunkinaterriblegloom,noserunning,hair
plastered to his scalp with wet. Ardee was not there, and yet she was
everywhere.Hewouldhearhervoiceabovethedin,callinghisname.Hewould
glimpseher outofthe cornerofhis eye,looking athim,and hisbreathwould
catchinhisthroat.Hewouldsmile,half-raisehishandtowave,thenhewould
seeitwasnother.Someotherdark-hairedwoman,smilingatsomeothersoldier.
Hisshoulderswouldslumpagain.Eachtimethedisappointmentwassharper.
He realised now that he had made a terrible mistake. Why the hell had he
askedhertowait for him? Waitfor what? He could not marryher,thatwas a
fact.Impossible.Butthethoughtofherevenlookingatanothermanmadehim
feelsick.Hewaswretched.
Love.Hehatedtoadmitit,butithadtobe.Hehadalwaysregardedthewhole
notion with contempt. A stupid word. A word for bad poets to harp on, and
foolish women to chatter about. A thing found in childish stories and with no
relevancetotherealworld,whererelationshipsbetweenmenandwomenwere
simplemattersoffuckingandmoney.Yetherehewas,miredinahorriblebogof
fearandguilt,lustandconfusion,lossandpain.Love.Whatacurse.
“I’dliketoseeArdee,”murmuredKaspa,wistfully.
Jezalturnedtostareathim.“What?Whatdidyousay?”
“It’s quite a sight to see,” said the Lieutenant, holding his hands up, “that’s
all.” Everyone was a little careful around him since that card game, as if he
mightblowupatanymoment.
Jezal turned sullenly back to the crowds. There was some kind of a
commotiondownbelowthem.Asinglehorsemanwasforcinghiswaythrough
thechaos,spurringawell-latheredhorsewithfrequentshoutsof“Move!”Even
intherain,thewingsontherider’shelmetglittered.AKnightHerald.
“Badnewsforsomeone,”murmuredKaspa.
Jezalnodded.“Lookslikeus.”Hewasindeedmakingdirectlyfortheirship,
leaving a trail of bemused and angry soldiers and workmen behind him. He
swungoutofthesaddleandstrodepurposefullyupthegangplanktowardsthem,
facegrim,bright-polishedarmourcoveredwithmoistureandjinglingwithevery
step.
“CaptainLuthar?”heasked.
“Yes,”saidJezal,“I’llfetchtheColonel.”
“Noneed.Mymessageisforyou.”
“Itis?”
“High Justice Marovia requires your presence at his offices. Immediately. It
wouldbebestifyoutookmymount.”
Jezalfrowned.Hedidnotlikethetasteofthisatall.Therewasnoreasonthat
hecouldseeforaKnightHeraldtobebringingmessagestohim,exceptthathe
had been inside the House of the Maker. He wanted nothing more to do with
that.Hewanted it in thepast,forgotten, along with Bayaz, andhisNorthman,
andthatdisgustingcripple.
“TheHighJusticeiswaiting,Captain.”
“Yes,ofcourse.”Itseemedtherewasnothingtobedone.
“Ah,CaptainLuthar!Anhonourtoseeyouagain!”Jezalwashardlysurprised
torunintothemadmanSulfur,evenhereoutsidetheofficesoftheHighJustice.
Henolongerevenseemedamadman,justanotherpartofaworldgoneentirely
mad.“Anabsolutehonour!”hefrothed.
“Likewise,”saidJezalnumbly.
“I’msoluckyIcaughtyou,whatwithbothofusleavingsosoon!Mymaster
has all manner of errands for me.” He gave a deep sigh. “Never the slightest
peace,eh?”
“No,Iknowwhatyoumean.”
“Still,an honourindeedto seeyou,and victoriousatthe Contest!I saw the
wholething,youknow,itwasaprivilegetobearwitness.”Hesmiledbroadly,
differentcolouredeyes glittering. “And tothink,you were set on givingitup.
Hah!Butyoustuckatit,justasIsaidyouwould!Yesyoudid,andnowyoureap
therewards!TheedgeoftheWorld,”hewhisperedsoftly,asthoughtosaythe
wordsoutloudwastoinvitedisaster.“TheedgeoftheWorld.Canyouimagine?
Ienvyyou,indeedIdo!”
Jezalblinked.“What?”
“What!Hah!‘What’,hesays!Youaredauntless,sir!Dauntless!”AndSulfur
strodeoffacrossthewetSquareofMarshals,chucklingtohimself.Jezalwasso
bemusedthathehadnoteventhepresenceofmindtocallhimadamnidiotonce
hewasoutofearshot.
One of Marovia’s many clerks ushered him through an empty, echoing
hallwaytowardsapairofenormousdoors.Hestoppedbeforethem,knocked.At
anansweringcryheturnedthehandleandpulledoneofthedoorsback,standing
asidepolitelyforJezaltopassthrough.
“Youmaygoin,”hesaidquietly,aftertheyhadbeenstoodthereforawhile.
“Yes,yes,ofcourse.”
The cavernous chamber beyond was eerily silent. Furniture was strangely
sparse in that huge, panelled space, and what there was seemed oversized, as
though for the use of people much bigger than Jezal. It gave him the distinct
feelingthathewasarrivingathisowntrial.
High Justice Marovia sat behind an enormous table, its surface polished to
mirrorbrightness,smilingatJezalwithakindly, ifslightly pityingexpression.
Marshal Varuz was seated to his left, staring down guiltily at his own blurry
reflection.Jezalhadnotthoughthecouldfeelmoredepressed,butonseeingthe
thirdmemberofthegroupherealisedhehadbeenwrong.Bayaz,wearingaself-
satisfiedsmirk. Hefelta mildsurgeof panicas thedoorshut behindhim:the
clickingofthelatchfeltliketheclankoftheheavyboltonaprisoncell.
Bayazstartedupfromhischairandcameroundthetable.“CaptainLuthar,I
amsogladyoucouldjoinus.”TheoldmantookJezal’sdamphandinbothof
hisandsqueezeditfirmly,leadinghimforwardintotheroom.“Thankyoufor
coming.Thankyouindeed.”
“Er,ofcourse.”Asifhehadbeengivenachoice.
“Well now, you’re probably wondering what this is all about. Allow me to
explain.” He stepped back and perched on the edge of the table, like a kindly
uncleholdingforthtoachild.“Iandafewbravecompanions—chosenpeople,
you understand, people of quality—are engaging on a great journey! An epic
voyage! A grand adventure! I have little doubt that, should we be successful,
there will be stories told of this for years to come. Very many years.” Bayaz’
foreheadcrinkledasheraisedhiswhiteeyebrows.“Well?Whatdoyouthink?”
“Er…” Jezal glanced nervously over at Marovia and Varuz, but they were
givingnocluesastowhatwasgoingon.“IfImay?”
“Ofcourse,Jezal—ImaycallyouJezal,mayI?”
“Yes,er,well,yes,Isuppose.Er,thethingis…Iwaswonderingwhatallthis
hastodowithme?”
Bayazsmiled.“Weareshortaman.”
Therewasalong,heavysilence.AdropofwatertrickleddownJezal’sscalp,
drippedfromhishair,randownhisnoseand patteredagainstthetilesbeneath
hisfeet.Horrorcreptslowlythroughhisbody,fromhisguttotheverytipsofhis
fingers.“Me?”hecroaked.
“Theroadwillbealonganddifficultone,mostlikelybesetwithdangers.We
haveenemiesoutthere,youandI.Moreenemiesthanyouwouldbelieve.Who
couldbemoreusefulthanaprovenswordsman,suchasyourself?Thewinnerof
theContest,noless!”
Jezal swallowed. “I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I am afraid I must
decline. My place is with the army, you understand.” He took a hesitant step
backtowardsthedoor.“Imustgonorth.Myshipwillsoonbesailingand—”
“I am afraid it has sailed already, Captain,” said Marovia, his warm voice
stoppingJezaldeadinhistracks.“Youneednotconcernyourselfwiththatany
longer.YouwillnotbegoingtoAngland.”
“But,yourWorship,mycompany—”
“Will find another commander,” smiled the High Justice: understanding,
sympathetic,buthorriblyfirm.“Iappreciateyourfeelings,indeedIdo,butwe
considerthis moreurgent.It isimportantthat theUnionbe representedinthis
matter.”
“Terribly important,” murmured Varuz, half-heartedly. Jezal blinked at the
three old men. There was no escape. So this was his reward for winning the
Contest? Some crackpot voyage to who-knew-where in the company of a
dementedoldmanandapackofsavages?Howhewishednowthathehadnever
startedfencing!Thathehadneverevenseenasteelinhislife!Butwishingwas
useless.Therewasnowayback.
“Ineedtoservemycountry—”mumbledJezal.
Bayaz laughed. “There are other ways to serve your country, my boy, than
beingonecorpseinapile,upthereinthefrozenNorth.Weleavetomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?Butmythingsare—”
“Don’tworry,Captain,”andtheoldmanslippedoffthetableandclappedhim
enthusiastically on the shoulder, “everything is arranged. Your boxes were
broughtofftheshipbeforeitleft.Youhavethiseveningtopickoutsomethings
forourjourney,butwemusttravellight.Weapons,ofcourse,andstoutclothes
fortravelling.Makesureyoupackagoodpairofboots,eh?Nouniforms,I’m
afraid,theymightattractthewrongkindofattentionwherewe’regoing.”
“No,ofcourse,”saidJezalmiserably.“MightIask…wherearewegoing?”
“The edge of the World, my boy, the edge of the World!” Bayaz’ eyes
twinkled.“Andback,ofcourse…Ihope.”
TheBloody-Nine
SayonethingforLogenNinefingers,saythathe’shappy.Theywereleaving,
at last. Beyond some vague talk about the Old Empire, and the edge of the
World,hehadnoideawheretheyweregoingandhedidn’tcare.Anywherebut
thiscursedplacewoulddoforhim,andthesoonerthebetter.
Thelatestmemberofthegroupdidn’tseemtosharehisgoodspirits.Luthar,
theproudyoungmanfromthegate.Theonewho’dwonthesword-game,thanks
toBayaz’ cheating. He’d barely saidtwowordstogethersince he arrived. Just
stoodthere,facerigidandchalkypale,staringoutofthewindow, boltupright
likehehadaspearallthewayuphisarse.
Logenambledovertohim.Ifyou’regoingtotravelwithaman,andmaybe
fightalongsidehim,it’sbesttotalk,andlaughifyoucan.Thatwayyoucanget
anunderstanding,andthenatrust.Trustiswhatbindsabandtogether,andout
thereinthewildsthatcanmakethedifferencebetweenlivingordying.Building
thatkindoftrusttakestime,andeffort.Logenreckoneditwasbesttogetstarted
early,andtoday he hadgoodhumourto spare, so hestoodnext to Lutharand
looked out at the park, trying to dream up some common ground in which to
planttheseedsofanunlikelyfriendship.
“Beautiful,yourhome.”Hedidn’tthinkitwas,buthewasshortonideas.
Lutharturnedfromthewindow,lookedLogenhaughtilyupanddown.“What
wouldyouknowaboutit?”
“Ireckononeman’sthoughtsareworthaboutasmuchasanother’s.”
“Huh,” sneered the young man coldly. “Then I suppose that’s where we
differ.”Heturnedbacktotheview.
Logentookadeepbreath.Thetrustmightbeawhilecoming.Heabandoned
LutharandtriedQuaiinstead,buttheapprenticewasscarcelymorepromising:
slumpedinachair,frowningatnothing.
Logensatdownnexttohim.“Aren’tyoulookingforwardtogoinghome?”
“Home,”mumbledtheapprenticelistlessly.
“That’sright,theOldEmpire…orwherever.”
“Youdon’tknowwhatit’slikethere.”
“Youcouldtellme,”saidLogen,hopingtohearsomethingaboutthepeaceful
valleys,cities,riversandwhatnot.
“Bloody.It’sbloodythere,andlawless,andlifeischeapasdirt.”
Bloodyandlawless.Thatallhadanunpleasantlyfamiliarsmacktoit.“Isn’t
thereanEmperor,orsomething?”
“There are many, always making war on one another, forging alliances that
lastaweek, or a day, or an hour,beforethey scramble to be firsttostabeach
other in the back. When one Emperor falls another rises, and another, and
another,andmeanwhilethehopelessandthedispossessedscavengeandlootand
killonthefringes.Thecitiesdwindle,thegreatworksofthepastfallintoruin,
the crops go unharvested and the people go hungry. Bloodshed and betrayal,
hundreds of years of it. The feuds have become so deep, so complicated, that
fewcantellanylongerwhohateswho,andnoonecansaywhy.There’snoneed
forreasonsanymore.”
Logenmadeonelasteffort.“Youneverknow.Thingsmighthavegotbetter.”
“Why?”mutteredtheapprentice.“Why?”
Logenwasfumblingforareplywhenoneof thedoorsswungbrisklyopen.
Bayazfrownedaroundtheroom.“Where’sMaljinn?”
Quaiswallowed.“Sheleft.”
“Icanseesheleft!IthoughtItoldyoutokeepherhere!”
“Youdidn’ttellmehow,”mutteredtheapprentice.
Hismaster ignored him.“What the hellhasbecome ofthatbloody woman?
Wemustbeawaybynoon!ThreedaysI’veknownher,andshealreadyhasme
attheendofmyrope!”Heclenchedhisteethandtookadeepbreath.“Findher,
willyouLogen?Findherandbringherback.”
“Whatifshedoesn’twanttocomeback?”
“Idon’tknow,pickherupandcarryher!Youcankickherallthewayback
hereasfarasI’mconcerned!”
Easytosay,butLogendidn’tfancytryingit.Still,ifithadtobedonebefore
they could leave, it was best done now. He sighed, got up from his chair and
madeforthedoor.
Logenpressedhimselfintotheshadowsbythewall,watching.
“Shit,”hewhisperedtohimself.It would have to be now, just as they were
abouttoleave.Ferrowastwentystridesaway,standinguptallwithadeeperthan
usualscowlonherdarkface.Therewerethreemengatheredroundher.Masked
men,allinblack.Theirsticksweredownbytheirlegs,behindtheirbacks,kept
halfoutofsight,butLogenhadnodoubtaboutwhattheyhadinmind.Hecould
hear one of them talking, hissing through his mask, something about coming
quietly.Hewinced.Comingquietlydidn’tsoundlikeFerro’sstyle.
He wondered whether he should slip away and tell the others. He couldn’t
reallysayhelikedthewomanmuch,notnearenoughtogethisheadbrokenfor
her. But if he left them to it, three against one, the chances were they’d have
knocked her to pieces by the time he got back, however tough she was, and
draggedherofftowhoknewwhere.Hemightnevergetoutofthisdamncity
then.
He started judging the distance, thinking about how best to go at them,
weighing his chances, but he’d been too long doing nothing, and his mind
movedslowly.HewasstillworkingonitwhenFerrosuddenlyjumpedononeof
them,yellingatthetopofhervoice,knockinghimonhisback.Shegavehima
coupleofvicious-lookingpunchesinthe facebefore theothers caughthold of
heranddraggedherup.
“Shit,”hissedLogen.Thethreeofthemwrestled,lurchingaroundinthelane,
knocking against the walls, grunting and swearing, kicking and punching, a
tangleofflailinglimbs.Itseemedthattimehad runout fora cleverapproach.
Logengrittedhisteethandchargedtowardsthem.
Theoneonthefloorhadrolledtohisfeet,shakingthefuzz outof hishead
whiletheothertwostruggledtogetagoodgriponFerro.Nowheliftedhisstick
high, arching back, ready to smash her on the skull. Logen let go a roar. The
maskedfacesnappedround,surprised-looking.
“Huh?”ThenLogen’sshouldercrunchedintohisribs,liftinghimoffhisfeet
andsendinghimsprawling.Outofthecornerofhiseyehesawsomeoneswinga
stickathim,buthe’dgotthemoffguardandtherewasnorealforcebehindit.He
caughtitacrosshisarmthenpressedinunderitandsmashedthemanrightinthe
maskwithhisfists,afull-bloodedpunchwitheachhand.Hereeledback,arms
flopping,alreadyfalling. Logen grabbed him by twofistfulsofhis black coat,
hauledhimintotheairandflunghimupsidedownintothewall.
Hebouncedoffwithagurgleandcrumpledonthecobbles.Logenspunround,
fistsclenched,butthelastonewaslyingonhisfacewithFerroontopofhim,
onekneejammedintohisback,pullinghisheadupbythehairandsmashinghis
faceintotheroad,shoutingmeaninglesscursesallthewhile.
“What did you fucking do?” he shouted, grabbing her under the elbow and
draggingheroff.
Shetorefreeofhisgripandstoodtherepanting,fistsbunchedupbyhersides,
bloodleakingoutofhernose.“Nothing,”shesnarled.
Logentookacautiousstepback.“Nothing?What’sthisthen?”
Shebitoffeachwordinheruglyaccentandspatthemathim.“I…don’t…
know.”Shewipedherbloodymouthwithonehand,thenfroze.Logenglanced
over his shoulder. Three more masked men, running at them down the narrow
lane.
“Shit.”
“Move,pink!”FerroturnedandstartedrunningandLogenfollowedher.What
else could he do? He ran. The horrible, breathless running of the hunted,
shoulderspricklingforablowintheback,suckinginairingasps,theslapping
footfallsofthemenbehindechoingaroundhim.
High white buildings flashed past on either side, windows, doors, statues,
gardens. People too, shouting as they dived out of the way or flattening
themselves against the walls. He had no idea where they were, no idea where
theyweregoing.Amanstepped out of a doorway right infrontofhim,a big
sheaf of papers in his arms. They crashed together, tumbled to the ground,
rollingoverandoverinthegutterwithpapersflappingdownallaroundthem.
He tried to get up but his legs were burning. He couldn’t see! There was a
pieceofpaperacrosshisface.Hetoreitaway,feltsomeonegrabhimunderthe
armandhaulhimalong.“Up,pink!
“Move!”Ferro.Shewasn’tevenoutofbreath.Logen’slungswereburstingas
hestruggledtokeepupwithherbutshepulledsteadilyaway,headdown,feet
flying.
She charged through an archway just ahead and Logen laboured after her,
bootsskiddingasheturnedthecorner.Agreatshadowyspace,timbersreaching
uphighabove,likeastrangeforestofsquarebeams.Wherethehellwerethey?
There was bright light just ahead, open air. He plunged out into it, blinking.
Ferrowasjustbeyondhim,turningroundslowly,breathinghard.Theywerein
themiddleofacircleofgrass,alittlecircle.
Heknewwheretheywerenow.Thearenawherehe’dsatamongthecrowds,
watchingthesword-game.Theemptybenchesstretchedawayallround.There
werecarpenterscrawlingamongstthem,sawingandhammering.They’dalready
takensomeofthebenchestopiecesnearthebackandthesupportsstuckuphigh
intotheairalonelikegiantribbones.Heputhishandsonhiswobblykneesand
bentover,gaspingforair,blowingspitoutontotheground.
“What…now?”
“Thisway.”Logenstraightenedupwithaneffortandwobbledafterher,but
shewasalreadyonherwayback.“Notthatway!”
Logen saw them. Black masked figures, again. The one at the front was a
woman,tallwithashockofredhairsproutingoffherhead.Shepaddedtowards
thecirclesilentlyontheballsofherfeet,wavedherarmbehindher,pointingthe
othertwoouttothesides,tryingtogetontheflanks,surroundhim.Logencast
about,lookingforaweapon,buttherewasnothing—justtheemptybenchesand
thehighwhitewallsbeyond.Ferrowasbackingtowardshim,nottenfeetaway,
andbeyondherthereweretwomoremasks,creepingoutaroundtheenclosures
withsticksintheirhands.Five.Fivealtogether.
“Shit,”hesaid.
“Whatthehelliskeepingthem?”growledBayaz,pacingthefloor.Jezalhad
never seen the old man annoyed before, and for some reason it made him
nervous. Whenever he came close, Jezal wanted to back away. “I’m having a
bath,damnit.Couldbemonthsbeforemynextone.Months!”Bayazstalkedout
of the room and slammed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Jezal alone
withtheapprentice.
They were probably close enough in age, but they had nothing else in
common,sofarasJezalcouldsee,andhestaredwithunconcealedcontempt.A
sickly, weaselly, puny, bookish sort. Sulking like that, moping around, it was
pathetic.Rude,too.Damnrude.Jezalfumedsilently.Justwhodidhe thinkhe
was,thearrogantpup?Whatthehelldidhehavetobesoupsetabout?Itwasn’t
himwho’dhadhislifestolenoutfromunderhim.
Still,if hehad tobeleft alonewithone ofthem, hesupposedit couldhave
beenworse.ItmighthavebeenthemoronNorthmanwithhisfumbling,thick-
tongued small-talk. Or that Gurkish witch, staring and staring with her devil-
yelloweyes.Heshudderedtothinkofit.Peopleofquality,Bayazhadsaid.He
wouldhavelaughedhadhenotbeenonthevergeoftears.
Jezalcasthimselfdownonthecushionsinahigh-backedchair,buthefound
scant comfort there. His friends were on their way to Angland now, and he
missedthemalready.West,Kaspa,Jalenhorm.EventhatbastardBrint.Ontheir
waytohonour,ontheirwaytofame.Thecampaignwouldbelongfinishedby
thetimehereturnedfromwhateverpittheoldmadmanwasleadinghimto,ifhe
returnedatall.Whoknewwhenthenextwarwouldbe,thenextchanceatglory?
HowhewishedhewasgoingtofighttheNorthmen.Howhewishedhewas
withArdee.Itseemedlikeanagesincehewashappy.Hislifewasawful.Awful.
He lay back listlessly in his chair, wondering if things could possibly be any
worse.
“Gurgh,”growledLogenasastickcrackedintohisarm,thenanotherintohis
shoulder, one in his side. He stumbled back, half on his knees, fending them
away as best as he could. He could hear Ferro screaming somewhere behind
him,furyorpainhecouldn’tsay,hewastoobusytakingabattering.
Somethingsmackedacross his skull, hard enough to send him reeling away
towardstheseats.Hefellonhisfaceandthefrontbenchhit himin thechest,
drivingtheairfromhislungs.Therewasbloodrunningdownhisscalp,onhis
hands, in his mouth. His eyes were watering from a blow to the nose, his
knuckleswereallskinnedandbloody,nearasrippedashisclotheswere.Helay
there, for a moment, gathering whatever strength was left. There was a thick
lengthoftimberlyingonthegroundbehindthebench.Hegrabbedholdofthe
end of it. It was loose. He dragged it towards him. It felt good in his hand.
Heavy.
Hesuckedinair,summoningonemoreeffort.Hemovedhisarmsandlegsa
little,testing them.Nothingbroken—except his nosemaybe,but it washardly
thefirsttime.Heheardfootstepscomingupbehind.Slowfootsteps,takingtheir
time.
Hepushedhimselfup,slowly,tryingtolookasthoughhewasinadaze.Then
heletgoaroarandspunround,swingingthetimberoverhishead.Itbrokein
halfacrossthemaskedman’sshoulderwithamightycrack,halfofitflyingup
offtheturfandclatteringaway.Themangaveamuffledwailandsankdown,
eyes screwed shut, one hand clutching at his neck, the other hanging useless,
stickdroppingfromhisfingers.Logenheftedtheshortpieceofwoodleftinhis
hands and clubbed him across the face with it. It snapped his head back and
drovehimintotheturf,maskhalftornoff,bloodbubblingoutfromunderneath.
Logen’sheadexplodedwithlightandhetotteredandsaggeddownontohis
knees.Someonehadhithiminthebackofthehead.Hithimhard.Heswayed
thereforamomenttryingtostophimselffallingonhisface,thenthingscame
suddenlybackintofocus.Thered-hairedwomanwasstandingoverhim,raising
herstickhigh.
Logenshovedhimselfup,flailedintoher,fumbledwithherarm,halfpulling
at her, half leaning on her, ears ringing, the world swinging madly. They
staggeredaround,tuggingonthestickliketwodrunkardswrestlingoverabottle,
backandforthinthecircleofgrass.Hefeltherpunchinghiminthesidewith
herotherhand.Hardpunches,rightintheribs.
“Aargh,” he growled, but his head was clearing now, and she was half his
weight.Hetwistedthearmwiththestickaroundbehindherback.Shepunched
him again, a knock on the side of his face that brought the stars back for an
instant,butthenhegotholdofherotherwristandpinnedthatarmaswell.He
bentherbackwardsoverhisknee.
Shekicked andtwisted,eyes screwedupto furious slits,but Logen hadher
fast.He freedhisright handfromthe tangleof limbs,broughthis fistup high
andmasheditintoherstomach.Shegaveabreathywheezeandwentlimp,eyes
bulging.Heflungherawayandshecrawledafootortwo,pulledhermaskdown
andstartedcoughingpukeontothegrass.
Logenstumbledandswayed,shookhishead,spittingbloodanddirtoutonto
the grass. Aside from the retching woman, there were four black, crumpled
shapes stretched out in the circle. One of them was grunting softly as Ferro
kickedhimoverandover.Shehadbloodalloverherface,butshewassmiling.
“Iamstillalive,”Logenmutteredtohimself,“Iamstill…”Thereweremore
of them coming through the archway. He swung around, almost falling over.
More,fourmore,fromtheotherside.Theyweretrapped.
“Move,pink!”Ferrodashedpasthimandsprangupontothefirstbench,then
thesecond,thenthethird,springingbetweenthemwithgreatstrides.Madness.
Wherewasshegoingtogofromthere?RedHairhadstoppedpuking,shewas
crawlingtowardsherfallenstick.Theotherswereclosinginfast,moreofthem
thanever.Ferrowasalreadyaquarterofthewaybackandshowingnosignsof
slowing,boundingfromonebenchtothenext,makingtheplanksrattle.
“Shit.”Logen setoffafter her.Afteradozen bencheshislegs wereburning
again.Hegaveuptryingtospringbetweenthemandstartedscramblinghowever
hecould.Ashefloppedoverthebacksofthebencheshecouldseethemasked
men behind—following, watching, pointing and calling, spreading out through
theseats.
Hewasslowingnow.Eachbenchwasamountain.Thenearestmaskwasonly
afewrowsbehind.Hescrambledon,higherandhigher,bloodyhandsclutching
at the wood, bloody knees scraping across the benches, skull echoing with his
own breath, skin prickling with sweat and fear. Air loomed suddenly empty
before him. He stopped, gasping, arms waving, teetering on the edge of a
dizzyingdrop.
Hewasclosetothehighroofsofthebuildingsbehind,butmostoftheseating
near the back had already been taken down, leaving the supports exposed—
single looming pillars, narrow beams between them, and a lot of high, empty
space. He watched Ferro spring from one soaring upright to another, then run
acrossawobblingplank,heedlessoftheplungingspacebelow.Shejumpedoff
ontoaflatroofatthefarend,highabovehim.Itseemedaverylongwayaway.
“Shit.”Logenteeteredout across the nearest beam, arms stretched out wide
forbalance,feetmovinginanoldman’sshuffle.His heartwas banginglike a
smith’shammeronananvil,hiskneeswereweakandwobblingfromtheclimb.
Hetriedtoignorethescramblingandshoutingofthemenbehindhimandlook
only at the knotted surface of the beam, but he couldn’t look down without
seeing the spider’s web of timbers below him, and the tiny flagstones of the
squarebelowthem.Farbelow.
Helurchedontoastretchofwalkwaystillintact,clatteredupittothefarend.
Hehauledhimselfupontoatimberabovehishead,lockedhislegsarounditand
draggedhimselfalongonhisarsewhispering“Iamstillalive,”tohimself,over
and over. The nearest mask had made it to the walkway, was running along it
towardshim.
Thebeam ended atthetop of one oftheupright struts.A square ofwooda
foot or two across. Then there was nothing. Two strides of empty air. Then
anothersquareatthetopofanotherdizzyingmast,thentheplanktotheflatroof.
Ferrostaredathimfromtheparapet.
“Jump!”shescreamed.“Jump,youpinkbastard!”
Hejumped.Hefeltthewindaroundhim.Hisleftfootlandedonthesquareof
wood,buttherewasnostopping.Hisrightfoothittheplank.Hisankletwisted,
hiskneebuckled.Thedizzyworldpitched.Hisleftfootcamedown,halfonthe
wood, half off. The plank rattled. He was in the empty air, limbs flailing. It
seemedlikealongtime.
“Ooof!”Theparapetcrashedintohischest.Hisarmsclawedwithitbutthere
wasnobreathleftinhim.Hebegantoslideback,eversoslowly,inchbyterrible
inch.Firsthecouldseetheroof,thenhecouldseehishands,thenhecouldsee
nothing but the stones in front of his face. “Help,” he whispered, but no help
came.
Itwasalong way down, he knew that. A long, long way, and there was no
watertofallintothistime.Onlyhard,flat,fatalstone.Heheardarattling.The
maskcomingacrosstheplankbehindhim.Heheardsomeoneshouting,butnone
ofitmatteredmuchnow.Heslippedbackwardsalittlefurther,handsscrabbling
atthecrumblingmortar.“Help,”hecroaked,buttherewasnoonetohelphim.
OnlythemasksandFerro,andnoneofthemseemedlikethehelpingkind.
He heard a clunk and a despairing shriek. Ferro kicking the plank, and the
maskfalling.Thescreamfellaway,itfeltlikeforalongtime,thenitwascutoff
in a distant thud. The mask’s body smashing to pulp against the ground, far
below,andLogenknewhewasabouttojoinhim.Youhavetoberealisticabout
these things. There would be no washing up on a river bank this time. His
fingertips were slipping, slowly, the mortar was starting to come apart. The
fighting,therunning,theclimb,theyhadallsuckedthestrengthoutofhim,and
now there was nothing left. He wondered what sound he would make as he
plungedthroughtheair.“Help,”hemouthed.
And strong fingers closed around his wrist. Dark, dirty fingers. He heard
growling,felthisarmbeingpulled,hard.Hegroaned.Theedgeoftheparapet
camebackintoview.HesawFerronow,teethgritted,eyessqueezedalmostshut
witheffort,veinsstandingoutfromherneck,scarlividagainstherdarkface.He
clutched at the parapet with his other hand, his chest came up beyond it, he
managedtoforcehiskneeover.
Shehauledhimtherestoftheway,andherolledandfloppedonhisbackon
theotherside,gaspinglikealandedfish,staringupatthewhitesky.“Iamstill
alive,” he muttered to himself after a moment, hardly able to believe it. It
wouldn’thavebeentoomuchofasurpriseifFerrohadtroddenonhishandsand
helpedhimfall.
Herfaceappearedabovehim,yelloweyesstaringdown,teethbaredinasnarl.
“Youstupid,heavypinkbastard!”
She turned away, shaking her head, stalked to a wall and started climbing,
hauling herself up fast towards a low-pitched roof above. Logen winced as he
watchedher.Didshenevergettired?Hisarmswerebattered,bruised,scratched
allover.Hislegsached,hisnosehadstartedbleedingagain.Everythinghurt.He
turned and looked down. One mask was staring at him from the edge of the
benches,twentystridesaway.Afewmorewerescurryingaroundbelow,looking
forsomewayup. Far below, in the yellow circleofgrass,hecould see a thin
blackfigurewithredhair,pointingaround,thenupathim,givingorders.
Soonerorlatertheywouldfindawayup.Ferrowasperchedonthepeakof
theroofabovehim,araggeddarkshapeagainstthebrightsky.“Staythereifyou
want,”shebarked,thenturnedanddisappeared.Logengroanedashestoodup,
groanedasheshuffledtothewall,sighedashebegantosearchforahandhold.
“Whereiseveryone?”demandedBrotherLongfoot.“Whereismyillustrious
employer?WhereisMasterNinefingers?Whereisthecharminglady,Maljinn?”
Jezallookedaround.Thesicklyapprenticewassunktoodeepinself-centred
gloomtoanswer.“Idon’tknowabouttheothertwo,butBayazisinthebath.”
“Iswear,Inevercameuponamanmoreattachedtobathingthanhe.Ihope
theothers will not belong.All is prepared,youknow! The ship isready.The
storesareloaded.Itisnotmywaytodelay.Indeeditisnot!Wemustcatchthe
tide,orbestuckhereuntil—”Thelittlemanpaused,staringupatJezalwitha
sudden concern. “You seem upset, my young friend. Troubled, indeed. Can I,
BrotherLongfoot,beofanyassistance?”
Jezalhadhalfamindtotellhimtomindhisownbusiness,buthesettledfor
anirritated,“No,no.”
“I’dwagerthatthereisawomaninvolved.WouldIberight?”Jezallookedup
sharply,wonderinghowthemancouldhaveguessed.“Yourwife,perhaps?”
“No!I’mnotmarried!It’snothinglikethat.It’ser,well,”hefumbledforthe
wordstodescribeit,andfailed.“It’snothinglikethatisall!”
“Ah,”saidtheNavigator,withaknowinggrin.“Ah,aforbiddenlovethen,a
secretloveisit?”Muchtohisannoyance,Jezalfoundthathewasblushing.“I
amright,Iseeit!Thereisnofruitsosweetastheoneyoucannottaste,eh,my
youngfriend?Eh?Eh?”HewaggledhiseyebrowsinwhatJezalfeltwasamost
unsavouryfashion.
“I wonder what’s keeping those two?” Jezal didn’t care in the least, but
anythingtochangethesubject.
“Maljinn, and Ninefingers? Hah,” laughed Longfoot, leaning towards him.
“Perhaps they’ve become involved, eh, in a secret love like yours? Perhaps
they’vecreptoffsomewhere,todowhatcomesnaturally!”HenudgedJezalin
theribs.“Canyouimagine,thosetwo?That’dbesomethingwouldn’tit?Hah!”
Jezal grimaced. The hideous Northman he already knew for an animal, and
fromwhatlittlehe’dseenofthatevilwomanshemightwellbeworse.Allhe
could imagine coming naturally to them was violence. The idea wasperfectly
revolting.Hefeltsoiledjustthinkingaboutit.
Theroofsseemedtogoonforever.Upone,downanother.Creepingalongthe
peaks, one slippery foot on either side, edging across ledges, stepping over
crumbling bits of wall. Sometimes Logen would look up for a moment, get a
dizzyingviewacrossthetumblingmassofdampslates,pittedtiles,ancientlead,
tothedistantwalloftheAgriont,sometimeseventhecityfarbeyond.Itmight
almost have been peaceful if it wasn’t for Ferro, fast-moving, sure-footed,
cursingathimandpullinghimon,givinghimnotimetothinkabouttheview,or
thenerve-wrackingdropstheyskirted,ortheblackfigures,surelystillseeking
forthembelow.
Oneofhersleeveshadbeentornhalfoffsometimeinthefighting,flapping
aroundherwrist,gettinginthewayastheyclimbed.Shesnarledandrippedit
awayattheshoulder.LogensmiledtohimselfasherecalledtheeffortsBayaz
hadgonetoingettinghertochangeheroldstinkingragsfornewclothes.Now
shewasfilthierthanever,shirtsweatedthrough,spottedwithbloodandcaked
with grime from the roof-tops. She looked over her shoulder and saw him
watchingher.“Move,pink,”shehissedathim.
“You see no colours, right?” She clambered on, ignoring him, swinging
around a smoking chimney and slithering across the dirty slates on her belly,
sliding down onto a narrow ledge between two roofs. Logen scrambled down
behindher.“Nocoloursatall.”
“So?”shethrewoverhershoulder.
“Sowhydoyoucallmepink?”
Shelookedround.“Areyoupink?”
Logenpeeredathisforearms.Asidefromthemottledbruises,redscratches,
blueveins,theyweresortofpink,ithadtobesaid.Hefrowned.
“Thought so.” She scurried away between the roofs, right to the end of the
building, and peered down. Logen followed her, leaned out gingerly over the
edge.Acoupleofpeopleweremovingaroundinthelanebelow.Farbelow,and
therewasnowaydown.They’dhavetogobackthewaytheycame.Ferrohad
alreadymovedawaybehindhim.
WindflickedatthesideofLogen’sface.Ferro’sfootslappedagainsttheedge
oftheroof,andthenshewasintheair.Hisjawhungopenashewatchedherfly
away,back arched,arms andlegs flailing.Shelandedonaflatroof,greylead
streakedwithgreenmoss,rolledoncethencameupsmoothlytoherfeet.
Logenlickedhislips,pointedathischest.Shenodded.Theflatroofwasten
feetbelow,buttheremighthavebeentwentyfeetofemptyairbetweenhimand
it,anditwasalongwaydown.Hebackedawayslowly,givinghimselfagood
run-up.Hesuckedinacoupleofdeepbreaths,closedhiseyesforamoment.
Itwouldbeperfect, in a way, if he fell.Nosongs,nostories.Just a bloody
smearonaroadsomewhere.Hestartedrunning.Hisfeetthumpedonthestone.
The air whistled in his mouth, plucked at his torn clothes. The flat roof came
flyinguptowardshim.Helandedwithashudderingimpact,rolledoncejustas
Ferrohaddone,stoodupbesideher.Hewasstillalive.
“Hah!”heshouted.“Whatd’youthinkofthat?”
There was a creaking sound, then a cracking, then the roof gave way under
Logen’s feet. He grabbed despairingly at Ferro as he fell and she slid through
afterhim,helpless.Hetumbledintheairforasickeningmoment,wailing,hands
clutchingatnothing.Hecrasheddownonhisback.
Logencoughedonchokingdust,shookhishead,shiftedpainfully.Hewasina
room,inkydarkafterthebrightnessoutside.Dustwasfilteringdownthroughthe
light from the ragged hole in the roof above. There was something soft under
him.Abed.Ithadhalfcollapsed,leaningatanangle,blanketscoveredinbroken
plaster.Therewassomethingacrosshislegs.Ferro.Hesnortedagurglinglaugh
tohimself.Inbedwithawomanagain,atlast.Unfortunatelyitwasn’tquitewhat
he’dbeenhopingfor.
“Stupidfuckingpink!”shesnarled,scrabblingoffhimandovertothedoor,
bitsofwoodandplasterslidingoffherdustyback.Shehauledonthedoorknob.
“Locked! It’s—” Logen crashed past her, ripping the door off its hinges and
sprawlingoutintothecorridorbeyond.
Ferrosprangoverhim.“Up,pink,up!”Ahandy-lookinglengthofwoodhad
splitfromtheedgeofthedoor,acoupleofnailsstickingoutoftheend.Logen
snatcheditupinhishand.Hestruggledtohisfeet,stumbleddownthecorridora
fewpaces,cametoajunction.Ashadowyhallwaystretchedawaytoeitherside.
Smallwindowscastsharppoolsoflightonthedarkmatting.
NowaytotellwhichwayFerrohadgone.Heturnedright,towardsaflightof
stairs.
There was a figure moving carefully down the dim corridor towards him.
Long and thin like a black spider in the darkness, balanced on the balls of its
feet.Achinkoflightshoneonbrightredhair.
“Youagain,”saidLogen,weighingthelengthofwoodinhishand.
“That’sright.Me.”Therewasajinglingsound,aflashofmetalinthedark.
Logenfeltthepieceofwoodrippedoutofhisfingersandhesawitflyoverthe
woman’sshoulderandclatterawaydownthecorridor.Unarmedagain,butshe
didn’t give him long to worry about it. There was something in her hand,
somethinglikeaknife,andshethrewitathim.Heduckedoutofthewayandit
hissed past his ear, then she jerked her other arm and something slashed him
acrosstheface,justunderhiseye.Helurchedback against the wall, trying to
understandwhatkindofmagichewasfacing.
Itwaslikeametalcross,thethinginherhand,threecurvedblades,onewitha
hookontheend.Achainloopedfromaringonthehandleanddisappearedup
hersleeve.
The knife-thing darted out, missed Logen’s face by an inch as he bobbed
away, struck a shower of sparks as it ripped back along the wall and slapped
smoothly back into her hand. She let it drop, swinging gently from its chain,
rattling against the floor, jumping and dancing towards him as she edged
forward. She jerked her wrist and the thing shot out at Logen again, slashed
across his chest as he tried to get away, spattering drops of blood against the
wall.
Hedivedatherbuthisoutspreadarmscaughtnothing.Therewasarattleand
he felt his foot dragged from under him, his ankle snapped round painfully,
caught by the chain as she ducked by. He sprawled out on his face, started to
pushhimselfup.Thechainsnakedunderhisneck.Hejustgothishandbehindit
before it snapped taut. The woman was on top of him, he could feel her knee
pressing into his back, could hear her breath hissing through her mask as she
pulled,thechaingrowingtighterandtighter,cuttingintothepalmofhishand.
Logengrunted,scrabblingtohisknees,lumberingunsteadilytohisfeet.The
womanwasstillonhisback,allherweightbearingdownonhim,pullingatthe
chain as hard as she could. Logen flailed around with his free hand but he
couldn’tgetather,couldn’tthrowheroff—shewaslikeabarnaclestuckfastto
him.Hecouldhardlybreathenow.Hetotteredforwardafewsteps,thendropped
overbackwards.
“Uurgh,”whisperedthewomaninhisearashisweightcrushedherintothe
floor.ThechainwentslackenoughforLogentodragitclearandslitheroutfrom
underit.Free.Herolledoverandgrabbedthewoman’sneckwithhislefthand,
started squeezing. She kneed at him, dug at him with her fists, but his weight
wasacrossherandtheblowswereweak.Theysnarledandgaspedandcroaked
ateachother,animalsounds,facesonlyinchesapart.Acoupleofspotsofblood
drippedfromthecutonhischeekandpatteredonhermask.Herhandcameup
andstartedfumblingwithhisface,pushinghisheadback.Herfingerforcedits
wayuphisnose.
“Aargh!” he screamed. Pain stabbed up into his head. He let go of her and
staggered up, one hand clasped to his face. She scrambled away, coughing,
landedakickinhisribsthatbenthimover,buthestillhadagriponthechain
andheyankedonitwithallhisweight.Herarmsnappedoutandsheyelpedand
flewstraightintohim,hiskneesinkingintoherside,crushingthebreathoutof
her.Logengrabbedholdofthebackofhershirt,halfliftedheroffthefloorand
flungherdownthestairs.
Sherolledandfloppedandbouncedherwaydown,slidtoastoponherside
nearthebottom.Logenwashalf-temptedtofollowherdownandfinishthejob,
but he had no time. There’d be more where she came from. He turned and
hobbledbacktheotherway,cursinghistwistedankle.
Soundscreptuponhimfromallaround,echoingdownthecorridorfromwho
knew where. Distant rattling and banging, shouts and cries. He stared into
darkness,limping,runningwithsweat,onehandonthewalltosteadyhimself.
He leaned round a corner, trying to see if it was clear. He felt something cold
acrosshisneck.Aknife.
“Still alive?” whispered a voice in his ear. “You don’t die easy, eh, pink?”
Ferro.Heslowlypushedherarmaway.
“Whered’yougettheknife?”Hewishedhehadone.
“Hegaveitme.”Therewasacrumpledshapeintheshadowsbythewall,the
mattingallroundsoakedwithdarkblood.“Thisway.”
Ferrocreptoffdownthecorridor,keepinglowinthedarkness.Hecouldstill
hearthesounds,beneaththem,besidethem,allaroundthem.Theycreptdowna
flightof stairs,outinto adimhallway panelledwithdark wood.Ferroducked
fromshadowtoshadow,movingfast.Logencoulddonomorethanlimpafter
her,dragginghisleg,tryingnottosquealwithpainwheneverheputhisweight
onit.
“There!It’sthem!”Figuresinthedimcorridorbehind.Heturnedtorun,but
Ferroheldherarmout.Thereweremore,comingtheotherway.Therewasabig
dooronhisleft,standingopenacrack.
“Inhere!”LogenshovedhiswaythroughandFerrodartedinafterhim.There
wasaheavypieceoffurniturebesideit,a big cupboard thing with shelves on
top,coveredinplates.Logengrabbedholdofoneendanddraggeditacrossin
frontofthedoors,acoupleoftheplatesdroppingoffandsmashingonthefloor.
Hepressedhisbackagainstit.Thatshouldholdthemforamoment,atleast.
Abigroomwithahighvaultedceiling.Twohugewindowstookupmostof
one wood-panelled wall, a big stone fireplace facing them. A long table stood
between,tenchairsoneitherside,setforeatingwithcutleryandcandlesticks.A
bigdiningroom,andtherewasonlyonewayin.Orout.
Logen heard muffled shouting beyond the door. The big cupboard wobbled
againsthisback.Anotherplateclatteredfromitsshelf,bouncedoffhisshoulder
andsmashedonthestoneflags,scatteringfragmentsacrossthefloor.
“Nicefuckingplan,”snarledFerro.Logen’sfeetslidashestrainedtoholdthe
teetering cupboard up. She dashed over to the nearest window, fumbled at the
metalframesroundthelittlepanes,prisingwithherfingernails,buttherewasno
wayout.
Logen’s eye caught on something. An old greatsword, mounted over the
fireplaceasanornament.Aweapon.Hegavethecupboardonelastshovethen
hurriedovertoit,seizedholdofthelonghiltinbothhandsandrippeditfromits
bracket. It was blunt as a plough, the heavy blade spotted with rust, but still
solid.Ablowfromitmightnotcutamaninhalf,butitwouldknockhimdown
alright. He turned just in time to see the cupboard tipping over, dropping
shatteringcrockeryalloverthestonefloor.
Blackfiguresspilledintotheroom,maskedfigures.Theoneatthefronthad
an evil-looking axe, the next a short-bladed sword. The one behind him was
dark-skinned,withgoldringsthroughhisears.Hehadalong,curveddaggerin
eitherhand.
Thoseweaponswerenotforknockingamanontheheadwith,notunlessthey
meant to knock his brains right out. Seemed that they’d given up on taking
prisoners.Killingweapons,meanttokill.Well,somuchthebetter,Logentold
himself.IfyousayonethingforLogenNinefingers,andonethingonly,sayhe’s
akiller.Heeyedthoseblack-maskedmen,clamberingoverthefallencupboard,
spreading out cautiously around the far wall. He glanced over at Ferro, lips
curledback,knifeinherhand,yelloweyessparkling.Hefingeredthegripofhis
stolensword—heavyandbrutal.Justthetoolforthejob,foronce.
Heplungedatthenearestmask,yellingatthetopofhisvoice,swingingthe
swordoverhishead.Themantriedtoduckawaybutthetipofthebladecaught
him on the shoulder and knocked him reeling. Another one jumped in behind
him, chopping with his axe, sending Logen stumbling away, gasping as his
weightwentontohisbadankle.
Heflailedaroundwiththebigsword,butthereweretoomany.Onescrambled
overthetable,gotbetweenhimandFerro.Somethinghithiminthebackandhe
stumbled, spun, slipped, lashed out with the sword and hit something soft.
Somebody screamed, but by then the one with the axe was coming for him
again. Everything was a mess of masks and iron, clashing, scraping weapons,
cursesandcries,raggedbreathing.
Logenswungtheswordbuthewassotired,sohurt,soaching.Theswordwas
heavy,andgettingheavierallthetime.Themaskweavedoutofthewayandthe
rusty blade clanged into the wall, knocking a great chunk out of the wooden
panellingandbitingintotheplasterbehind,theshocknearlyjarringitoutofhis
hands.
“Ooof,”hebreathedasthemankneedhiminthestomach.Somethinghithim
in the leg and he nearly fell. He could hear somebody yelling behind, but it
seemedfaraway.Hischestwashurting,hismouthwassour.Therewasbloodon
him. All over him. He could hardly breathe. The mask stepped forward, and
again,smiling, smelling victory.Logenlurchedback towards thefireplace,his
footslipping,fallingdownononeknee.
Allthingscometoanend.
Hecouldn’tlifttheoldswordanymore.Therewasnostrengthleft.Nothing.
Theroomwasgrowingblurry.
Allthingscometoanend,butsomeonlyliestill,forgotten…
There was a cold feeling in Logen’s stomach, a feeling he hadn’t felt for a
longtime.“No,”hewhispered.“I’mfreeofyou.”Butitwastoolate.Toolate…
…therewasbloodonhim,butthatwasgood.Therewasalwaysblood.Buthe
was kneeling, and that was wrong. The Bloody-Nine kneels to no man. His
fingerssoughtoutthecracksbetweenthestonesofthefireplace,prisingbetween
themlikeoldtreeroots,pullinghimup.Hisleghurtandhesmiled.Painwasthe
fuelthat madethefires burn.Somethingmoved infrontof him.Maskedmen.
Enemies.
Corpses,then.
“You’re hurt, Northman!” The eyes of the closest one sparkled above his
mask,theshiningbladeofhisaxedancedintheair.“Wanttogiveupyet?”
“Hurt?” The Bloody-Nine threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll fucking
showyouhurt!”Hetumbledforward,flowedbeneaththeaxe,slipperyasfishes
intheriver,swingingtheheavybladeinagreatlowcircle.Itcrunchedintothe
man’skneeandcrackeditbackthewrongway,scythedonintohisotherlegand
ripped it out from under him. He gave a muffled scream as he spun onto the
stones,turningroundandroundintheair,shatteredlegsflopping.
SomethingdugintotheBloody-Nine’sback,buttherewasnopain.Itwasa
sign. A message in a secret tongue, that only he could understand. It told him
wherethenextdeadmanwasstanding.Hereeledaroundandtheswordfollowed
him in a furious, beautiful, irresistible arc. It crunched into someone’s guts,
foldedhiminhalf,snatchedhimoffhisfeetandflunghimthroughtheair.He
bounced from the wall beside the fireplace and crumpled on the floor in a
showerofbrokenplaster.
A knife whirled, hissing, stuck deep into the Bloody-Nine’s shoulder with a
dampthud.Theblackone,withtheringsthroughhisears.Hehadthrownit.He
was on the other side of the table, smiling, pleased with his throw. A terrible
mistake. The Bloody-Nine came for him. Another knife flashed past, clattered
againstthewall.Hesprangoverthetableandtheswordfollowedbehind.
The dark man dodged the first great swing, and the second. Fast and tricky
clever,butnotcleverenough.Thethirdblowbithimintheside.Aglancingbite.
Justanibble.Itonlysmashedhisribsandknockedhimscreamingtohisknees.
Thelastonewasbetter,acircleoffleshandironthatcarvedintohismouthand
ripped his head half off, showering blood across the walls. The Bloody-Nine
pluckedtheknifefromhisshoulderandtossedittothefloor.Bloodranfromthe
wound,soakedthroughhisshirtandmadeagreat,lovely,warmredstain.
He dropped and faded away, leaves falling from the tree, rolling across the
ground.Amanlungedpast,slashingattheairwherehehadstoodwithashort-
bladed sword. Before he could turn, the Bloody-Nine was on him, left hand
snaking round his fists. He struggled and strained, but it was useless. The
Bloody-Nine’sgripwasstrongastherootsofmountains,relentlessasthetide.
“Theysend suchasyou tofightme?” Heflung themanback againstthewall
and squeezed, crushing his hands around the grip of his weapon, turning the
short blade until it was pointing at his chest. “A fucking insult!” he roared,
spittinghimonhisownsword.
The man screamed, and screamed behind his mask, and the Bloody-Nine
laughed,andtwistedtheblade.Logenmighthavepitiedhim,butLogenwasfar
awayandtheBloody-Ninehadnomorepityinhimthanthewinter.Lesseven.
Hestabbed,andcut,andcut,andsmiled,andthescreamsbubbledanddied,and
heletthecorpsedroptothecoldstones.Hisfingerswereslickwithbloodand
hewipeditonhisclothes,onhisarms,onhisface—justasitshouldbe.
Theonebythefireplacewassitting,hanginglimp,headback,eyeslikewet
stones,staring at theceiling. Part oftheearth now.TheBloody-Nine smashed
hisfaceopenwiththeswordjusttomakesure.Besttoleavenodoubts.Theone
who’dhadtheaxewascrawlingforthedoor,legstwistedoutanddraggingover
thestonesbehindhim,gaspingandwhimperingalltheway.
“Quietnow.”Theheavybladecrunchedintothebackoftheman’sskulland
sprayedhisbloodacrossthestones.
“More,”hewhispered,andtheroomturnedaroundhimashesoughtoutthe
nextkill.“More!”hebellowed,andhelaughed,andthewallslaughed,andthe
corpseslaughedwithhim.“Where’stherestofyou?”
Hesawadark-skinnedwoman,withableedingcutonherfaceandaknifein
her hand. She didn’t look like the others, but she would do just as well. He
smiled, crept forward, raising the sword in both hands. She stepped away,
watchinghim,keepingthetablebetweenthem,hardyelloweyeslikethewolf.A
tinyvoiceseemedtotellhimthatshewasonhisside.Shame.
“Northerner,eh?”askedamassiveshapeinthedoorway.
“Aye,who’sasking?”
“TheStone-Splitter.”
Hewasbigthisone,verybig,andtough,andsavage.Youcouldseeitonhim
as he shoved the cupboard away with his huge boot and crunched forward
throughthebrokenplates.ItmeantlessthannothingtotheBloody-Ninethough
—he was made to break such men. Tul Duru Thunderhead had been bigger.
Rudd Threetrees had been tougher. Black Dow had been twice as savage. The
Bloody-Ninehadbrokenthem,andplentymorebesides.Thebigger,thetougher,
themoresavagehewas,somuchtheworsewouldbehisbreaking.
“Stone-Shitter?” laughed the Bloody-Nine. “So fuckin’ what? Next to die is
what y’are, and nothing more!” He held his left hand up, spattered with red
blood,threefingersspreadoutwide,grinningthroughthegapwherethemiddle
oneusedtobe,alongtimeago.“TheycallmetheBloody-Nine.”
“Dah!”TheStone-Splitterrippedoffhismaskandthrewitonthefloor.“Liar!
There’splentyo’meninthenorthhavelostafinger.Theyain’tallNinefingers!”
“No.Onlyme.”
Thatgreatfacetwistedupwithrage.“Youfuckingliar!Youthinktoscarethe
Stone-Splitter with a name that’s not your own? I’ll carve a new arse in you,
maggot! I’ll put the bloody cross on you! I’ll put you back in the mud you
cowardfuckingliar!”
“Killme?”TheBloody-Ninelaughedlouderthanever.“Idothekilling,fool!”
Thetalkwasdone.Stone-Splittercameathimwithaxeinonehandandmace
intheother,greatheavyweapons,thoughheusedthemquickenough.Themace
swungacross,smashedagreatholethroughtheglassinoneofthewindows.The
axecamedown,splitonetimberofthetableinhalf,madetheplatesjumpinthe
air, the candlesticks topple. The Bloody-Nine twitched away, frog hopping,
waitingforhistime.
Themacemissedhisshoulderbyaninchasherolledacrossthetable,cracked
one of the big flat stones on the floor, split it down the middle, chips flying
throughtheair.Stone-Splitterroared,swinginghisweapons,smashingachairin
half,knockingachunkofstoneoutofthefireplace,choppingagreatgashinthe
wall.HisaxestuckfastinthewoodforamomentandtheBloody-Nine’ssword
flashedover,brokethehaftintosplinteredhalves,leavingtheStone-Splitterwith
abrokenstickinhispaw.Heflungitawayandheftedthemace,cameoneven
harder,swingingitroundwithfuriousbellows.
It sailed over and the Bloody-Nine’s sword caught it just below the head,
ripped it out of the big hand. It twisted through the air and clattered into the
corner, but the Stone-Splitter pressed forward, spreading his great hands out
wide.Tooclosetousethebigswordnow.Stone-Splittersmiledashishugearms
closedaroundtheBloody-Nine,foldinghimtight,holdinghimfast.“Gotyer!”
heshouted,squeezinghiminagreathug.
Anawfulmistake.Bettertoembracetheburningfire.
Crack!
The Bloody-Nine’s forehead smashed into his mouth. He felt the Stone-
Splitter’s grip slacken a little and he wriggled his shoulders, making room,
wriggling, wriggling, mole in his burrow. He swung his head back as far as it
wouldgo.Billy-goatcharges.Thesecondhead-buttsmashedtheStone-Splitter’s
flat nose open. He grunted and the big arms released a little more. The third
cracked his cheekbone. The arms fell away. The fourth broke his heavy jaw.
NowitwastheBloody-Nineholdinghimup,smilingashemashedhisforehead
into the shattered face. Woodpecker pecking, tap, tap, tap. Five. Six. Seven.
Eight.Therewasasatisfyingrhythmtothecrunchingofthefacebones.Nine,
and he let the Stone-Splitter fall. He sagged sideways and crumpled onto the
floor,bloodspillingfromhisruinedface.
“How’sthatforyer?”laughedtheBloody-Nine,wipingbloodoutofhiseyes
andgiving the Stone-Splitter’s lifelessbodya couple ofkicks.The roomspun
aroundhim, swamaround him,laughing,laughing.“How’sthat…fuck…”He
stumbled,blinked,sleepy,campfireguttering.“No…notyet…”Hedroppedto
hisknees.Notyet.Therewasmoretodo,alwaysmore.“Notyet,”hesnarled,
buthistimewasup…
…Logenscreamed.Hefelldown.Pain,everywhere.Hislegs,hisshoulder,his
head.Hewaileduntilthebloodcaughtinhisthroat,thenhecoughedandgasped
and rolled around, scrabbling at the floor. The world was a blurry smear. He
gurgledupbloodanddrooleditout,longenoughtostartwailingagain.
A hand clamped over his mouth. “Stop your damn crying, pink! Now, you
hearme?”Avoice,whisperingurgentinhisear.Strange,hardvoice.“Stopyour
cryingorIleaveyou,understand?Onechance!”Thehandcameaway.Aircame
outbetweenhisgrittedteethinahighpitched,keeningmoan,butnottooloud.
A hand clamped round his wrist, dragged his arm up. He gasped as his
shoulderstretchedout,wasdraggedoversomethinghard.Torture.“Up,bastard,
Ican’tcarryyou!Up,now!Onechance,understand?”
Hewasliftedslowly,hetriedtopushwithhislegs.Thebreathwhistledand
clicked in his throat, but he could do it. Left foot, right foot. Easy. His knee
buckled,painstabbeduphisleg.Hescreamedagainandfell,grovelledonthe
floor.Besttoliestill.Hiseyesclosed.
Something slapped him hard in the face, and again. He grunted. Something
slidunderhisarmpit,startedtopullhimup.
“Up,pink!Up,orIleaveyou.Onechance,youhear?”
Breathin,breathout.Leftfoot,rightfoot.
Longfootfussedandworried,firsttappinghisfingersonthearmofhischair,
thencountingonthem,shakinghisheadandmoaningabouttides.Jezalstayed
silent, hoping against hope that the two savages might have drowned in the
moat,andthatthewholeventuremightthereforecometonothing.Therewould
stillbeplentyoftimetomakeittoAngland.Perhapsallwasnotlost…
Heheardthedooropenbehindhim,andhisdreamswerepunctured.Misery
swaddled him once again, but it was soon replaced by horrified surprise as he
turnedaround.
Tworaggedshapesstoodinthedoorway,coveredinbloodandfilth.Devils,
surely,steppedoutfromsomegatetohell.TheGurkishwomanwascursingas
she lurched into the room. Ninefingers had one arm across her shoulders, the
otherswingingloose,blooddrippingfromhisfingertips,headdrooping.
Theywobbledtogetherforasteportwo,thentheNorthman’sstumblingfoot
caughtonachairlegandtheytumbledontothefloor.Thewomansnarledand
shrugged off his limp arm, shoved him away and scrambled up to her feet.
Ninefingers rolled over slowly, groaning, and a deep gash in his shoulder
yawnedopen,oozingbloodacrossthecarpet.Itwasredinthere,likefreshmeat
inabutcher’sshop.Jezalswallowed,horrifiedandfascinatedatonce.
“God’sbreath!”
“Theycameforus.”
“What?”
“Whocame?”
A woman sidled cautiously around the door frame, red-haired, all in black,
wearing a mask. A Practical, Jezal’s numb brain was saying, but he could not
understandwhyshewassobruised,orwalkingwithsuchalimp.Anotheredged
throughbehindher,aman,armedwithaheavysword.
“You’recomingwithus,”saidthewoman.
“Makeme!”Maljinnspatather.Jezalwasshockedtoseeshehadproduceda
knifefromsomewhere,andabloodyoneatthat.Sheshouldnotbearmed!Not
here!
He realised, stupidly, that he was wearing a sword. Of course he was. He
fumbled with the hilt and drew it, with the vague intention of knocking the
Gurkishdevilonthebackoftheheadwiththeflatbeforeshecoulddoanymore
damage. If the Inquisition wanted her they could damn well have her, and the
restofthemtoo.Unfortunately,thePracticalsgotthewrongidea.
“Dropit,”hissedthered-hairedwoman,glaringathimthroughnarroweyes.
“Iwillnot!”saidJezal,tremendouslyoffendedthatshemightthinkhewason
thesideofthesevillains.
“Erm…”saidQuai.
“Aaargh,”groanedNinefingers,clutchingupabloodyhandfulofcarpetand
draggingittowardshim,makingthetablelurchacrossthefloor.
A third Practical crept through the door, around the red-haired woman, a
heavy mace in his gloved fist. An unpleasant-looking weapon. Jezal could not
help picturing the effect it might have on his skull, if swung in anger. He
fingeredthehiltofhissworduncertainly,feelinginterribleneedofsomeoneto
tellhimwhattodo.
“Comingwithus,”saidthewomanagain,ashertwofriendsadvancedslowly
intotheroom.
“Ohdear,”murmuredLongfoot,takingcoverbehindthetable.
Then the door to the bathroom banged against the wall. Bayaz stood there,
entirely naked, dripping with soapy water. His slow gaze took in first Ferro,
scowlingwithher knife out, then Longfoot hidingbehindthetable,Jezal with
sworddrawn,Quaistandingwithhismouthopen,Ninefingerssprawledoutina
bloodyruin,andfinallythethreeblackmaskedfigures,weaponsattheready.
Therewasapregnantpause.
“Whatthefuckisthis?”heroared,stridingintothecentreoftheroom,water
drippingfromhisbeard,downthroughthegrizzledwhitehairsonhischest,off
hisslappingfruits.Itwasastrangesight to see. Anakedoldmanconfronting
three armed Practicals of the Inquisition. Ridiculous, and yet no one was
laughing.Therewassomethingstrangelyterrifyingabouthim,evenwithouthis
clothes and running with wet. It was the Practicals who shifted backwards,
confused,scaredeven.
“You’recomingwithus,”thewomanrepeated,thoughacertaindoubtseemed
tohaveenteredhervoice.OneofhercompanionssteppedwarilytowardBayaz.
Jezalfeltastrangesensationinhisstomach.Atugging,asucking,anempty,
sickfeeling.Itwaslikebeingbackonthebridge,intheshadowoftheMaker’s
House.Onlyworse.Thewizard’sfacehadturnedterriblyhard.“Mypatienceis
atanend.”
Like a bottle dropped from a great height, the nearest Practical burst apart.
There was no thunderclap, only a gentle squelching. One moment he was
moving toward the old man, sword raised, entirely whole. The next he was a
thousand fragments. Some unknown part of him thudded wetly against the
plasternexttoJezal’shead.Hissworddroppedandrattledontheboards.
“Youweresaying?”growledtheFirstoftheMagi.
Jezal’s knees trembled. His mouth gaped. He felt faint, and queasy, and
awfullyhollowinside.Therewerespotsofbloodacrosshisface,buthedared
notmovetowipethemoff.Hestaredatthenakedoldman,unabletobelievehis
eyes.Itseemed that he had watchedawell-meaningold buffoonchange in an
instantintoabrutalmurderer,andwithouttheslightestgrainofhesitation.
Thered-hairedwomanstoodthereamoment,spatteredwithbloodandflecks
ofmeatandbone,eyeswideastwodinnerplates,thenstartedtoshuffleslowly
backwards towards the door. The other one followed her, almost tripping over
Ninefingers’ foot in his haste to get away. Everyone else stayed motionless as
statues.JezalheardquickfootstepsinthecorridoroutsideasthetwoPracticals
ranfortheir lives. He almostenviedthem.They, it seemed, would escape.He
wastrappedinthisnightmare.
“Wemustleave,now!”barkedBayaz,wincingasifhewasinpain,“justas
soon as I have my trousers on. Help him, Longfoot!” he shouted over his
shoulder. For once, the Navigator was lost for words. He blinked, then got up
frombehindthetableandbentdownovertheunconsciousNorthman,rippedoff
astripofhistatteredshirttouseasabandage.Hepaused,frowning,asthough
unsurewheretobegin.
Jezalswallowed. His sword wasstillin his hand, but heseemedto lack the
strengthto put itaway.Bitsofthe unfortunate Practicalwere scatteredaround
theroom,stucktothewalls,theceiling,thepeople.Jezalhadneverseenaman
die before, let alone in so hideous and unnatural a fashion. He supposed he
should have been horrified, but instead he felt only an overpowering sense of
relief.Hisworriesseemednowratherpettythings.
He,atleast,wasstillalive.
TheToolsweHave
Gloktastoodinthenarrowhallway,leaningonhiscaneandwaiting.Onthe
othersideofthedoor,hecouldhearraisedvoices.
“Isaid,novisitors!”
Hesighedtohimself.Hehadmanybetterthingstodothantostandaround
here on his aching leg, but he had given his word and he meant to keep it. A
pokey, unremarkable hallway in a pokey, unremarkable house among many
hundreds of others the same. The whole district was recently built, terraces of
housesinthenewfashion:half-timbered,threestories,goodperhapsforafamily
and a couple of servants. Hundreds of houses, one very much like another.
Houses for the gentlefolk. The new rich. Jumped-up commoners, Sult would
probably have called them. Bankers, merchants, artisans, shop keepers, clerks.
Perhapstheoddtown-houseofsomesuccessfulgentlemanfarmer,likethisone
here.
Thevoiceshadstoppednow.Gloktaheardmovement,someclinkingofglass,
thenthedooropenedacrackandthemaidpeeredout.Anill-favouredgirlwith
big,wateryeyes.Shelookedscaredandguilty.Still,Iamusedtothat.Everyone
seemsscaredandguiltyaroundtheInquisition.
“She’llseeyounow,”thegirlmumbled.Gloktanoddedandshuffledpasther
intotheroombeyond.
HehadsomehazymemoriesofstayingwithWest’sfamilyforaweekortwo
onesummer,upinAngland,adozenyearsagoperhaps,althoughitseemedmore
like a hundred. He remembered fencing with West in the courtyard of their
house,ofbeingwatchedeverydaybyadark-hairedgirlwithaseriousface.He
rememberedmeetingayoungwomanintheparknotlongago,whohadasked
him how he was. He had been in a lot of pain at the time, scarcely seeing
straight,andherfacewasablurinhismemory.SoitwasthatGloktawasnot
sure what to expect, but he certainly had not expected the bruises. He was a
touchshocked,foramoment.ThoughIhideitwell.
Dark, purple and brown and yellow, under her left eye, the lower lid well
swollen. Round the corner of her mouth too, the lip split and scabbed over.
Gloktaknewalotaboutbruises,fewmenmore.AndIhardlythinkshegotthese
byaccident.Shewaspunchedintheface,bysomeonewhomeantit.Helooked
atthoseuglymarks,andhethoughtabouthisoldfriendCollemWest,cryingin
hisdiningroomandbeggingforhelp,andheputthetwotogether.
Interesting.
Shesatthere,allthewhile,lookingbackathimwithherchinhigh,thesideof
herfacewiththeworstbruisesturnedtowardshim,asthoughchallenginghimto
saysomething.Sheisnotmuchliketoherbrother.Notmuchlikeatall.Idon’t
thinkshe’llbeburstingintotearsinmydiningroom,oranywhereelse.
“What can I do for you, Inquisitor?” she asked him coldly. He detected the
very slightest slurring of the word Inquisitor. She has been drinking… though
she hides it well. Not enough to make her stupid. Glokta pursed his lips. For
somereasonhehadthefeelingthatheneededtowatchhisstep.
“I’mnothereinaprofessionalcapacity.Yourbrotheraskedmeto—”
Shecuthimoffrudely.“Didhe?Really?HeretomakesureIdon’tfuckthe
wrongman,areyou?”Gloktawaitedforamoment,allowingthattosinkin,then
hebegantochucklesoftlytohimself.Oh,that’sgrand!Ibegintoquitelikeher!
“Somethingfunny?”shesnapped.
“Pardonme,”saidGlokta,wipinghisrunningeyewithafinger,“butIspent
twoyearsintheEmperor’sprisons.Idaresay,ifIhadknownI’dbetherehalf
thatlongatthestart,Iwouldhavemadeamoreconcertedefforttokillmyself.
Sevenhundreddays,giveortake,inthedarkness.Asclosetohell,Iwouldhave
thought, as a living man can go. My point is this—if you mean to upset me
you’llneedmorethanharshlanguage.”
Glokta treated her to his most revolting, toothless, crazy smile. There were
fewpeopleindeedwhocouldstomachthatforlong,butshedidnotlookaway
foraninstant.Soon,infact,shewassmilingbackathim.Alop-sidedgrinofher
own,andonewhichhefoundoddlydisarming.Adifferenttack,perhaps.
“The fact is, your brother asked me to look after your welfare while he is
away.AsfarasI’mconcernedyoucanfuckwhomeveryouplease,thoughmy
generalobservationhasbeenthat,asfarasthereputationsofyoungwomenare
concerned, the less fucking the better. The reverse is true for young men of
course.Hardlyfair,butthenlifeisunfairinsomanyways,thisonehardlyseems
worthcommentingon.”
“Huh.You’rerightthere.”
“Good,”saidGlokta,“soweunderstandeachotherthen.I seethat youhurt
yourface.”
Sheshrugged.“Ifell.I’maclumsyfool.”
“Iknowhowyoufeel.I’msuchafoolIknockedhalfmyteethoutandhacked
my leg to useless pulp. Look at me now, a cripple. It’s amazing where a little
foolishness can take you, if it goes unchecked. We clumsy types should stick
together,don’tyouthink?”
Shelookedathimthoughtfullyforamoment,strokingthebruisesonherjaw.
“Yes,”shesaid,“Isupposeweshould.”
Goyle’sPractical,Vitari,wassprawledonachairoppositeGlokta,justoutside
thehugedarkdoorstotheArchLector’soffice.Shewasslumpedintoit,poured
ontoit,drapedoveritlikeawetcloth,longlimbsdangling,headrestingonthe
back.Hereyestwitchedlazilyaroundtheroomfromtimetotimeunderheavy
lids, sometimes coming to rest on Glokta himself for insultingly long periods.
She never turned her head though, or indeed moved a muscle, as though the
effortmightbetoopainful.
Which,indeed,itprobablywouldbe.
Plainly,shehadbeeninvolvedinamostviolentmelee,handtohand.Above
her black collar, her neck was a mass of mottled bruises. There were more
aroundherblackmask,alotmore,andalongcutacrossherforehead.Oneof
her drooping hands was heavily bandaged, the knuckles of the other were
scratchedandscabbedover.She’stakenmorethanacoupleofknocks.Fighting
hard,againstsomeonewhomeantbusiness.
Thetinybelljumpedandtinkled.“InquisitorGlokta,”saidthesecretary,ashe
hurriedoutfrombehindhisdesktoopenthedoor,“hisEminencewillseeyou
now.”
Glokta sighed, grunted and heaved on his cane as he got to his feet. “Good
luck,”saidthewomanashelimpedpast.
“What?”
ShegaveabarelyperceptiblenodtowardstheArchLector’soffice.“He’sina
hellofamoodtoday.”
As the door opened, Sult’s voice washed out into the ante-room, changing
from a muffled murmuring into an all-out scream. The secretary jerked back
fromthegapasifslappedintheface.
“Twenty Practicals!” shrieked the Arch Lector, from beyond the archway.
“Twenty! We should have been questioning that bitch now, instead of sitting
here,lickingourwounds!HowmanyPracticals?”
“Twenty,ArchLec—”
“Twenty!Damnit!”Gloktatookadeepbreathandinsinuatedhimselfthrough
thedoor.“Andhowmanydead?”TheArchLectorwasstridingbrisklyupand
downthetiledfloorofhishugecircularoffice,wavinghislongarmsintheair.
Hewasdressedallinwhite,asspotlessasever.ThoughIfancyahairisoutof
place,maybeeventwo.Hemusttrulybeinafury.“Howmany?”
“Seven,”mumbledSuperiorGoyle,hunchedintohischair.
“Athirdofthem!Athird!Howmanyinjured?”
“Eight.”
“Mostoftherest!Againsthowmany?”
“Inall,thereweresix—”
“Really?”TheArchLectorthumpedhisfistsonthetable,leaningdownover
the shrinking Superior. “I heard two. Two!” he screamed, pacing once more
roundandroundthetable,“andbothofthemsavages!TwoIheard!Awhiteone
andablackone,andtheblackoneawoman!Awoman!”Hekickedsavagelyat
thechairnexttoGoyleanditwobbledbackandforthonitsfeet.“Andwhat’s
worse, there were countless witnesses to this disgrace! Did I not say discreet?
Whatpartoftheworddiscreetisbeyondyourcomprehension,Goyle?”
“ButArchLector,circumstancescannot—”
“Cannot?”Sult’sscreechroseanentireoctavehigher.“Cannot?Howdareyou
givemecannot,Goyle?DiscreetIaskedfor,andyougavemebloodyslaughter
across half the Agriont, and failed into the bargain! We look like fools! Far
worse,welooklikeweakfools!MyenemiesontheClosedCouncilwillwaste
no time in turning this farce to their advantage. Marovia’s already stirring
trouble,theoldwindbag,whiningaboutlibertyandtighterreinsandalltherest
of it! Damn lawyers! They had their way, we’d get nothing done! And you’re
makingithappen,Goyle!I’mstalling,andI’msayingsorry, andI’m tryingto
putthingsinthebestlight,butaturd’saturd,whateverlightit’sin!Doyouhave
anynotionofthedamageyou’veinflicted?Ofthemonthsofhardworkyou’ve
undone?”
“But,ArchLector,havetheynotnowleftthe—”
“They’llbeback,youcretin!Hedidnotgotoallthistroublesimplytoleave,
dolt! Yes they’ve gone, idiot, and they’ve taken the answers with them! Who
theyare,whattheywant,whoisbehindthem!Left?Left?Damnyou,Goyle!”
“Iamwretched,yourEminence.”
“Youarelessthanwretched!”
“Icannotbutapologise.”
“You’re lucky you’re not apologising over a slow fire!” Sult sneered his
disgust.“Nowgetoutofmysight!”
GoyleflashedalookofthemostprofoundhatredatGloktaashecringedhis
wayoutoftheroom.Goodbye,SuperiorGoyle,goodbye.TheArchLector’sfury
couldnotfalluponamoredeservingcandidate.Gloktacouldnotsuppressthe
tiniestofsmilesashewatchedhimgo.
“Something amusing you?” Sult’s voice was ice as he held out his white
glovedhand,purplestoneflashingonhisfinger.
Gloktabenttokissit.“Ofcoursenot,yourEminence.”
“Good,becauseyou’venothingtobeamusedabout,Icantellyou!Keys?”he
sneered. “Stories? Scrolls? What could have possessed me to listen to your
drivel?”
“Iknow,ArchLector,Iapologise.”Gloktaedgedhumblyintothechairthat
Goylehadsorecentlyvacated.
“You apologise, do you? Everyone apologises! Some good that does me!
Fewer apologies and more successes is what I need! And to think, I had such
highhopesforyou!Still,Isupposewemustworkwiththetoolswehave.”
Meaning?ButGloktasaidnothing.
“Wehaveproblems.Veryseriousproblems,intheSouth.”
“TheSouth,ArchLector?”
“Dagoska. The situation there is grave. Gurkish troops are flocking to the
peninsula. They already outnumber our garrison by ten to one, and all our
strengthiscommittedintheNorth.ThreeregimentsoftheKing’sOwnremainin
Adua,butwiththepeasantsgettingoutofhandacrosshalfofMidderland,they
cannotbespared.SuperiorDavoustwaskeepingmeinformedinweeklyletters.
He was my eyes, Glokta, do you understand? He suspected that there was a
conspiracyafootwithinthecity.AconspiracyintendingtodeliverDagoskainto
thehandsoftheGurkish.Threeweeksagothelettersstopped,andyesterdayI
learned that Davoust has disappeared. Disappeared! A Superior of the
Inquisition!Vanishedintothinair!Iamblind,Glokta.Iamfumblinginthedark
atamostcrucialtime!IneedsomeonetherethatIcantrust,doyouunderstand?”
Glokta’sheartwasthumping.“Me?”
“Ohyou’relearning,”sneeredSult.“YouarethenewSuperiorofDagoska.”
“Me?”
“Many congratulations, but forgive me if we leave the feast until a quieter
moment! You, Glokta, you!” The Arch Lector leaned down over him. “Go to
Dagoskaanddig.Find out what happened to Davoust.Weed the garden down
there.Rootouteverythingdisloyal. Everything and anyone. Light a fire under
them!Ineedtoknowwhat’sgoingon,ifyouhavetotoasttheLordGovernor
untilhedripsgravy!”
Gloktaswallowed.“ToasttheLordGovernor?”
“Is there an echo in here?” snarled Sult, looming even lower. “Sniff out the
rot, and cut it away! Hack it off! Burn it out! All of it, wherever it is! Take
charge of the city’s defences yourself if you must. You were a soldier!” He
reachedoutandslidasinglesheetofparchmentacrossthetabletop.“Thisisthe
King’s writ, signed by all twelve chairs on the Closed Council. All twelve. I
sweatedbloodtogetit.WithinthecityofDagoska,youwillhavefullpowers.”
Gloktastareddownatthedocument.Asimplesheetofcream-colouredpaper,
blackwriting,ahugeredsealatthebottom.We,theundersigned,conferupon
His Majesty’s faithful servant, Superior Sand dan Glokta, our full powers and
authority… Several blocks of neat writing, and below, two columns of names.
Crabby blotches, flowing swirls, near illegible scrawls. Hoff, Sult, Marovia,
Varuz, Halleck,Burr,Torlichorm, andallthe rest.Powerfulnames. Gloktafelt
faintashepickedupthedocumentinhistwotremblinghands.Itseemedheavy.
“Don’tletitgotoyourhead!Youstillhavetotreadcarefully.Wecanstandno
moreembarrassments,buttheGurkishmustbekeptoutatallcosts,atleastuntil
thisbusinessinAnglandissettled.Atallcosts,doyouunderstand?”
I understand. A posting to a city surrounded by enemies and riddled with
traitors,whereoneSuperiorhasalreadymysteriouslydisappeared.Closertoa
knifeinthebackthanapromotion,butwemustworkwiththetoolswehave.“I
understand,ArchLector.”
“Good.Keepmewellinformed.Iwanttobeswampedbyyourletters.”
“Ofcourse.”
“YouhavetwoPracticals,correct?”
“Yes,yourEminence,FrostandSeverard,bothvery—”
“Notnearlyenough!Youwon’tbeabletotrustanyonedownthere,noteven
theInquisition.”Sultseemedtothinkaboutthatforamoment.“Especiallythe
Inquisition. I have picked out a half dozen others whose skills are proven,
includingPracticalVitari.”
Thatwoman,watchingovermyshoulder?“But,ArchLector—”
“Don’t‘but’ me, Glokta!” hissed Sult.“Don’tyoudare‘but’ me, not today!
You’re not half as crippled as you could be! Not half as crippled, you
understand?”
Gloktabowedhishead.“Iapologise.”
“You’rethinking,aren’tyou?Icanseethecogsturning.Thinkingyoudon’t
wantoneofGoyle’speoplegettingintheway?Well,beforesheworkedforhim
sheworkedforme.AStyrian,fromSipano.Coldasthesnow,thosepeople,and
she’sthecoldestofthem,Icantellyou.Soyouneedn’tworry.NotaboutGoyle,
anyway”No.Onlyaboutyou,whichisfarworse.
“Iwillbehonouredtohaveheralong.”Iwillbedamnedcareful.
“Be as honoured as you damn well please, just don’t let me down! Make a
messofthisandyou’llneedmorethanthatpieceofpapertosaveyou.Ashipis
waitingatthedocks.Leave.Now.”
“Ofcourse,yourEminence.”
Sultturnedawayandstrodeovertothewindow.Gloktaquietlygotup,quietly
slidhischairunderthetable,quietlyshuffledacrosstheroom.TheArchLector
wasstillstanding,handsclaspedbehindhim,asGloktaeversocarefullypulled
the doors to. It was not until they clicked shut that he realised he had been
holdinghisbreath.
“How’ditgo?”
Gloktaturnedroundsharply,hisneckgivingapainfulclick.
Strange,howIneverlearnnottodothat.PracticalVitariwasstillfloppedin
herchair,lookingupathimwithtiredeyes.Shedidnotseemtohavemovedthe
wholetimehewasinside.Howdiditgo?Heranhistonguearoundhismouth,
overhisemptygums,thinkingaboutit.Thatremainstobeseen. “Interesting,”
hesaidintheend.“IamgoingtoDagoska.”
“SoIhear.”Thewomandidindeedhaveanaccent,nowhethoughtaboutit.A
slightwhiffoftheFreeCities.
“Iunderstandyou’recomingwithme.”
“IunderstandIam.”Butshedidnotmove.
“Weareinsomethingofahurry.”
“Iknow.”Sheheldoutherhand.“Couldyouhelpmeup?”
Gloktaraisedhiseyebrows.IwonderwhenIwaslastaskedthatquestion?He
hadhalf a mindto say no,butin theendhe held hishand out, ifonlyfor the
novelty.Herfingersclosedroundit,startedtopull.Hereyeswerenarrowed,he
could hear her breath hissing as she unfolded herself slowly from the chair. It
hurt,having herpullon himlikethat, inhisarm, inhis back. But it hurts her
more.Behindhermask,hewasprettysure,herteethweregrittedwithpain.She
moved her limbs one at a time, cautiously, not sure what would hurt and how
much. Glokta had to smile. A routine I go through myself every morning.
Strangelyinvigorating,toseesomeoneelsedoingit.
Eventually she was standing, her bandaged hand clutched against her ribs.
“Youabletowalk?”askedGlokta.
“I’llloosenup.”
“Whathappened?Dogs?”
She gave a bark of laughter. “No. A big Northman knocked the shit out of
me.”
Gloktasnorted.Well,forthrightatleast.“Shallwego?”
Shelookeddownathiscane.“Don’tsupposeyou’vegotoneofthosespare,
haveyou?”
“I’mafraidnot.Ionlyhavetheone,andIcan’twalkwithoutit.”
“Iknowhowyoufeel.”
Not quite. Glokta turned and began to limp away from the Arch Lector’s
office.Not quite. He could hear the woman hobbling along behind. Strangely
invigoratingtohavesomeonetryingtokeepupwithme.Heuppedthepace,and
ithurthim.Butithurtshermore.
BacktotheSouth,then.Helickedathisemptygums.Hardlyaplaceofhappy
memories. To fight the Gurkish, after what it cost me last time. To root out
disloyaltyinacitywherenoonecanbetrusted,especiallythosesenttohelpme.
Tostruggleintheheatandthedust,atathanklesstaskalmostcertaintoendin
failure.Andfailure,morethanlikely,willmeandeath.
Hefelthischeektwitch,hiseyelidflicker.AtthehandsoftheGurkish?Atthe
hands of plotters against the crown? At the hands of his Eminence, or his
agents?Orsimplytovanish,asmypredecessordid?Hasonemaneverhadsuch
arangeofdeathstochoosefrom? Thecornerofhismouthtwitchedup.Ican
hardlywaittogetstarted.
That same question came into his head, over and over, and he still had no
answer.
WhydoIdothis?
Why?
Acknowledgments
Fourpeoplewithoutwhom…
BrenAbercrombie,whoseeyesaresorefromreadingit
NickAbercrombie,whoseearsaresorefromhearingaboutit
RobAbercrombie,whosefingersaresorefromturningthepages
LouAbercrombie,whosearmsaresorefromholdingmeup
Andalso…
MatthewAmos,forsolidadviceatashakytime
GillianRedfearn,whoreadpastthebeginningandmademechangeit
SimonSpanton,whoboughtitbeforehegottotheend
Copyright©JoeAbercrombie2006Allrightsreserved
TherightofJoeAbercrombietobeidentifiedastheauthorofthisworkhas
beenassertedbyhiminaccordancewiththeCopyright,DesignsandPatentsAct
1988.
FirstpublishedinGreatBritainin2006byGollancz
AnimprintoftheOrionPublishingGroupOrionHouse,5UpperStMartin’s
Lane,LondonWC2H9EA
AnHachetteLivreUKCompany
ThiseditionpublishedinGreatBritainin2007byGollancz
ACIPcataloguerecordforthisbookisavailablefromtheBritishLibrary
ISBN9780575079793
79108
TypesetbyDeltatypeLtd,Birkenhead,Merseyside
PrintedinGreatBritainbyMackaysofChathamplc,Chatham,Kent
The Orion Publishing Group’s policy is to use papers that are natural,
renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable
forests.Theloggingandmanufacturingprocessesareexpectedtoconformtothe
environmentalregulationsofthecountryoforigin.
www.orionbooks.co.uk
TableofContents
TheEnd
PARTI
TheSurvivors
Questions
NoChoiceatAll
PlayingWithKnives
TeethandFingers
TheWideandBarrenNorth
FencingPractice
TheMorningRitual
FirstoftheMagi
TheGoodMan
OntheList
AnOfferandaGift
TheKingoftheNorthmen
ARoadBetweenTwoDentists
Flatheads
TheCourseofTrueLove
HowDogsareTrained
TeaandVengeance
PARTII
WhatFreedomLooksLike
TheKing’sJustice
MeansofEscape
ThreeSigns
TheTheatricalOutfitter’s
BarbariansattheGate
Next
BetterthanDeath
SoreThumb
Questions
Nobility
DarkWork
WordsandDust
